With Fingers Crossed
by ThisLoveHasNoCeiling
Summary: "I fell in love in the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once." -John Green. When Nymphadora Tonks meets Remus Lupin, he's spent 13 years learning that letting people in only causes pain. Her determination to break down his walls, however, may just match his determination to keep her away. Goblet of Fire era RLNT.
1. Chapter 1: A Tipsy Introduction

_A/N: It's been _ages _since I've posted on here, and I've been working on this story for almost as long. This chapter's been written since July, but I didn't want to start posting until I was sure I'd have enough free time to update relatively regularly. I was originally going to post this in a few weeks, but I got accepted to college this past weekend so now I have time to post again!_

_Anyway, I haven't read many stories where Remus and Tonks meet before the Order (but I've loved all those that I have read), so I thought I might try it. All you really need to know is that it begins early July of 1994 (and will continue for quite a while, I think). Remus has just resigned as DADA professor and Tonks has just graduated Auror training. _

_The title is from Motion City Soundtrack's 'Broken Heart', which includes the line, "with fingers crossed there will be love"._

_Chapter 1 (an intro/prologue of sorts) is dedicated to Briallen Hunter, StrawberryFields, Fanfiction fan, Hannah, and ani, who all left wonderful reviews on Bruised Knees but who I couldn't PM to thank. I know it's been ages, but if you're reading this, thank you so much all of you!_

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**Chapter 1 - A Tipsy Introduction**

July 1st, 1994

The first time Nymphadora Tonks meets Remus Lupin, she's giggling, euphoric, and just tipsy enough to have a complete lack of respect for personal space.

Okay, she may be a bit more than tipsy, but she's definitely _not _pissed.

She's _not_.

She's sure of this, because although the room is slightly spinny, she can still manage to convince Tom, in spite of his knack for looking after her a bit more protectively than other patrons at the Leaky Cauldron, to give her another drink. And she's pretty sure she's at least partially coherent, because he doesn't grumble _too _much when he protests that she's had enough and only threatens to tell her father once. And this is, in fact, progress.

She starts to doubt her sobriety only a bit when she has difficulty explaining this to her mate Michael, but she brushes it off because he nods at her, completely entranced in her explanation of the fact that her dad and Tom go way back and that's why Tom looks after her.

It's only when he tells her, still smiling, that she's told him the same thing three times now, that she starts to become really worried. But he takes her mind off it, the filthy enabler, by pushing her drink back towards her.

"Better drink up, Tonks. You managed to convince Tom to give you free drinks as congratulations, but only for an hour," he tells her, and she's momentarily disconcerted because she can't actually remember doing that.

He seems to notice her concern, however, because he gives her a reassuring pat on the back. "Don't worry, I won't let you do anything stupid. Well, I did let you give everyone you passed on the way in hugs, but they were happy to oblige. And you deserve it, anyway, after all the work you went through."

Tonks beams at the compliment, knowing it's true; she's worked her arse off to pass Stealth and Tracking and qualify as an Auror. She received her badge today, and as it's a Friday and she's now officially an Auror, she and her best mates from Hogwarts are out for drinks.

Or were, she thinks to herself hazily, as her other best friends, Jane and Will, went home at some point she doesn't quite remember. She'd grumbled and called them boring and domestic, and they'd retorted (with pathetic, dreamy grins and a disgustingly soppy kiss) that at least they had romance in their lives. To which she'd blushed and probably done a horrible job attempting to convince them that she has a social life, because in all honesty, she doesn't. She sees Michael most often, but she rarely has time with training, and she can't imagine that changing much now that she's a rookie Auror. Besides, she knows he's only got free time because his boyfriend works abroad.

It's still weird for her to think that Jane and Will, people she'd gone to school with, are married now, she muses. She's only 21 after all, but many witches and wizards marry young. Her mum and dad'd married when her mum was only 18, just out of Hogwarts, but then again her dad's much older and her sister was born a convenient 8 months later so it was probably necessary. Plus, her mum's family's _awful_, and so her mum and dad had eloped the second they got the chance.

Still, she can't help but feel ashamed at her lack of serious relationship right now–or ever, really. Her longest lasting boyfriend, Toby, who she'd started seeing during her seventh year, had broken up with her sometime during her first year of Auror training, complaining that she didn't have time for him anymore. She's since become convinced that he resented her for being accepted into the programme when he never was, if his comments about her morphing being what got her in were any indication, and he was pretty useless anyway, leaving her feeling as if she was being used half the time, but she's over him now and really not into any guys she does know.

Besides, she's crap at meeting people, because she can always tell that they're impressed with her because of what she can do, not who she is. Which, _whatever_, she guesses, it's their loss. Only it takes its toll, after a while, and she really doesn't want to date some guy if he's interested for the wrong reasons. Even if it would stop her mum from asking if she's got a boyfriend every time she comes over.

"Tonks?" Michael's deep voice coaxes her out of her stupor, and by the look on his face she thinks he's probably been trying to get her attention for a while.

"Hmm?" She asks eloquently, because really, she's pretty sure she's drunk at this point. She's not even sure what time it is anymore, because there aren't many people here (except those women at the hen party, the drunk old guys chatting with Tom, and that miserable looking bloke in the corner who hasn't moved since they arrived), and she knows it's not early enough that they've missed the rush, which concerns her a bit. Surely it's not _that _late yet?

"I said we could always pretend you're my girlfriend to take your mum off your case," Michael explains, and she frowns at him. Has she really been saying all of that aloud?

"Yes, you have." He informs her, and she groans, resting her forehead against the wood table. It smells of cigarettes and butterbeer, but she doesn't mind at this point. She must be _really _pissed if she's been speaking out loud.

"Hey, Mike," she slurs, moaning as she lifts her head enough to look at him, one eye shut, "if I fall asleep here, do you promise not to let anything bad happen to me?"

He rolls his eyes. "That's what I thought, time to get you to bed."

And without further ado he stands, places some coins on the table, slips an arm around her back and legs, and lifts her up as if she weighs nothing. She squeals, a rather undignified sound that causes quite a few heads to turn, and wraps her arms around his neck, giggling silently up at him.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me," she teases, laughing as she rests her head against his chest.

He laughs as well, and presses a light kiss to the top of her head. "Sorry, love, you're not my type."

She laughs harder at this, because suddenly Mike's being gay is _hilarious, _and lets out another, even less dignified yelp when he suddenly stops in his tracks and drops her.

Well, he doesn't _quite _drop her; he sort of loosens his grip on her as he freezes and she's too busy laughing to notice and cling tight. So she falls unceremoniously to his feet, confused and mightily disoriented.

"Um, Mike?" She asks, not bothering to try to sit up on her own. She knows a lost cause when she_ is_ one, and besides, the room's lagging a bit, and she's sort of having a hard time making out his face from down here.

She can, however, tell that his gaze is trained on the miserable man from the corner, who's now not in the corner at all but heading, as they were, for the door. They're both frozen for a moment, before the man shoves his hands awkwardly in his pockets and looks away from Michael and at anything else, settling on his feet and (accidentally, she assumes) catching Tonks' eye.

"Hi," she says to him with a lopsided grin (because really, what else is she going to do?), and she sees an involuntary flash of amusement cross his features before his face falls back into what can, she thinks, only be described as misery. Or maybe shame.

He makes to turn away, but pauses when he notices that she's struggling to sit up. Tonks grimaces as she heaves herself up, trying to get closer to him, because honestly, she thinks, nobody should look that forlorn on a Friday night in a pub. She doesn't even consider the fact that she should probably be slightly alarmed at her sudden desire to hug him, or maybe just rub the worry lines away from his face with her finger, but she finds herself thinking he's too handsome to look so old like that when his eyes are so young.

Her thoughts catch up to her a moment later, when she's finally sitting and staring at him. _Handsome? _Did she really just think that? She's startled by it, to be honest, because he's wearing a horrible wool cardigan and looks, when he's frowning like that, to be at least a decade her senior, and yet in her drunken stupor all she can think is that he simply _can't _deserve the pain that put that look on his face.

All these deep (and ridiculous, she'll think the next morning) thoughts have taken place in a rush in her head and she's trying to think of what it is she wants to say to him as she struggles to stand (and wonders what Michael, the sodding git, is doing standing there _still _frozen instead of helping her), but everything in her head is replaced by one single thought as she stumbles and hits her head on the table.

_Ow. _

The pain catches her off guard, because she's been doing pretty well standing up so far and with her clumsiness in general, but suddenly all she can think is _ow _and _oof _as she ends up back where she started, wincing in pain (and embarrassment) as she returns, with even less dignity, to Michael and the sad looking stranger's feet.

On the plus side, she supposes, she can tell through her swimming and teary vision that Michael's _finally _been jarred out of his stupor and is kneeling down next to her. She still notices, though, when he continues to dart nervous glances at the man she'd been trying to get to, and it doesn't slip past her that he backs away a bit when the other man kneels down as well.

"Are you all right?"

They're the first words she ever hears him say, and in her alcohol-induced state she finds herself mesmerised by the gentleness in his voice, the genuine concern.

Instead of responding, however, her hand makes a belated trip up to the bump she can already feel forming on her forehead as she tells him, "I hit my head."

She's not sure why her vision's trained on him and not Michael, though later she'll justify it by saying he's obviously the more sober of the two, but she catches that flash of amusement again as he says, "Yes, you did. Can you tell me what day it is?"

She blinks at him while struggling to sit up once more. "Why, don't you know?"

She swears she can see him roll his eyes as he gently restrains her, and when she makes a pathetic whiny sound in protest he huffs a bit and helps her into a sitting position.

"I was asking to be sure _you _knew." He tells her, and she can feel herself flush as he takes her face in one hand and stares into her eyes.

It's all a fuzz, and she's not quite sure what he's doing, (because hey, sure he's attractive, but they're moving a little fast, aren't they?) but eventually he lets go of her, satisfied, and tells her, "Your pupils are responding normally and you seem relatively lucid, considering the amount of alcohol you've consumed in the past few hours. I don't think you have a concussion."

And _oh_, she thinks, _that's what he was doing_, and she's just a little confused when she feels something a bit like disappointment, because it's not like she wanted him to do the other thing, either. She tells herself she just misses the warm weight of his hand on her skin because now she feels a bit dizzy and lost, and when he stands to go she doesn't think twice and reaches out to stop him.

"Wait!" She says, a little louder than she thinks she meant to, because he goes back to looking uncomfortable and does that whole ashamed-eye-darting thing when the remaining people in the pub look around at them.

He raises his eyebrows at her, which makes her want to giggle for some absurd reason, and she realises that she hasn't told him what to wait for.

"Wait," she repeats, because when she opens her mouth again, she realises she has no idea what she wanted to tell him.

She staggers to her feet and approaches him, a bit unsteadily, she thinks, because she can see him hold out a hand to steady her and she feels the room sway dangerously.

"Thank you," she tells him, and without hesitation she throws her arms around him, because really, that seems like the most mature and reasonable thing to do right now. She holds him tightly, failing to notice the way he tenses at the contact, and then suddenly she feels an arm wrap around her stomach and pull her back.

She struggles for a moment, confused and a bit scared, but when she smells a scent that is distinctly _Michael_ she realises it's him that's pulled her away from the man.

"What?" She asks him, turning around and ending up pressed against his firm chest when he doesn't release her but instead tightens his hold on her. If she was more sober she'd probably recognise his tense expression as fear, but for now she doesn't notice much. "I just wanted to give him a hug! He looks so sad."

She means for the last part to come out whispered, but when she turns back to the man and sees his face she wonders whether she's failed at that, too.

_Oh well, too late now_, she thinks to herself, so she faces him directly, wiggles a bit in a vain attempt to free herself from Michael's hold, and tells him in her best no-nonsense voice, "You look like you need a hug."

The second she's said it she hears Michael hiss her name in her ear, and she turns back to him, annoyed, and battles an urge to stomp her foot at him.

"_What?!_" She asks again, feeling her face flush with anger. When he says nothing but continues to hold her tightly, she hisses, "Will you let _go _of me!?"

But he doesn't, and instead looks somewhere past the stranger's shoulder as he mutters, in a low voice, "You'll have to excuse her, mister, she's had a bit too much to drink."

And then he doesn't wait for a response and drags her, by force, out the door and onto the street. She's still looking at the man's face, who at first looked baffled at her launching herself at him but now just looks ashamed again, and maybe even resigned, and she finds herself _furious _with Michael for putting that look back on his face. She's maybe even a bit upset with herself for failing to remove it.

And as she thinks more about it, about the sadness in his eyes and posture and everything about him, and she thinks about the way Michael reacted to him, without knowing anything about him, and about the way the other people in the pub seemed to avoid him, she finds herself inexplicably sad, and tearing up. Because it's not _fair_, she thinks again, for someone like that, someone that gentle and kind, to feel so sad.

It's ridiculous for her to be so worked up over someone who she's barely spoken to and never met before, and she knows that it is, even being as drunk as she is, but she still can't quite stop the tears from building.

Michael hasn't said a word to her since their little spat indoors, but as they walk towards his flat (or as he supports her and she stumbles), she can feel him finally calming down. But she still remembers that she's supposed to be mad at him, so as they get to his street (as she's long since accepted that she's too drunk not to splinch and plans on kipping on Michael's couch), she turns on him, eyes flashing.

"Did you have to be so mean?" She questions angrily, not even sure why she's so worked up on some stranger's behalf.

Michael just looks weary, and maybe exasperated, and he runs a hand through his short, dark hair with his free hand. "You don't read the _Prophet_ at all, do you?"

"No, why would I?" She asks incredulously. "It's boring and long and–hey, don't change the subject!"

He just shakes his head at her, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like _typical _under his breath, and doesn't say anything back, instead putting an arm around her and practically carrying her up the stairs to his flat. He makes the whole thing seem quite effortless, which it probably is for him given her general _smallness _(which she absolutely refuses to recognise as shortness) and his rather impressive musculature.

By the time they're through his front door, she's temporarily forgiven him for being mean, because he's reminded her that Charlie Weasley is coming home tomorrow and now he's telling her that she can stay on his couch and greet Charlie in the morning and that he'll make her breakfast and a hangover potion.

When she finally does stumble onto the couch, she gazes up at his ceiling dreamily and feels herself give a massive yawn. Michael laughs at her, and pulls off her shoes and throws her a blanket, telling her he'll be in the next room and not to vomit on his carpet. She giggles at him, snuggles up in a ball, and promptly falls asleep, blissfully unaware of her friend's troubles.

~ o0o ~

Back in his room, Michael sighs heavily as he gets ready to sleep. He's a bit ashamed, really, that he'd frozen like that when he saw the man from the papers. But he'd recognised him, Remus Lupin, from the _Prophet_'s article about the ex-defence teacher who'd, just a week or so ago, resigned from his post at Hogwarts. Mostly, he'd remembered the one word.

_Werewolf._

And now, as he thinks of it, he _is _ashamed, because as a black man–and even further, a gay man–he knows what it's like to have people judge him without knowing him. But his parents, as is custom among magical parents, had cautioned him against werewolves, and his friends at school had shared scary stories about men like Fenrir Greyback. So when he'd seen the man, seen Remus Lupin, he'd been afraid, with no real reason to be.

Yet the man in the pub'd been all right. He'd helped Tonks when Michael'd dropped her, and he'd been...gentle. And sort of cute, in the professor-ish way, if he does say so himself, even if he had, as Tonks'd so eloquently put it, looked like he needed a hug.

Michael sighs, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow. He has other things to be concerned with; Charlie is _finally _coming hometomorrow, and it isn't as if anything bad has happened. He'll just have to hope Tonks won't remember it, or won't question him as to why he'd reacted that way. He'd be ashamed, he knows, to admit to her that he, of all people, carries a prejudice.

And besides, he reasons, he has no reason to worry Tonks with such information. After all, it isn't as if she'll ever see him again.

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_A/N: So, how'd you like it? A bit shorter than usual, I know, but it's kind of an intro/prologue of sorts. _

_Also, I'm sorry if it was hard to keep up with Tonks' thoughts/sort out what was actually happening. Obviously, in order for her to have had basically no inhibitions, she'd have been pretty drunk, which makes the relative coherency of her thoughts a bit unlikely. I didn't think I could manage to write an entire chapter and convey any sort of reason if I'd written her as completely trashed, though, so this is what happened–a bit of a balance, I guess. Just remember that she was drunker than she sounded! ;)_

_Next up: Tonks does, in fact, run into Remus again, but does she remember him from the pub?_

_Thanks for reading, chapter 2 should be up soon!_


	2. Chapter 2: A Second Chance

_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who read/reviewed last chapter! It means a lot to me, it really does. I hope everyone is having happy holidays!_

_Chapter 2 is dedicated to StrawberryFields, ani, and Hannah, who all left wonderful reviews on chapter 1 but who I couldn't respond to in a PM. Thank you guys so much!_

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**Chapter 2 - A Second Chance**

July 2nd, 1994

The second time Nymphadora Tonks meets Remus Lupin, she's tired, slightly miffed, hungover, and not at all sure what happened the night before.

Though she's been trying to piece together a sensible order of events for the past hour or so, it isn't until Mike presents her with a hangover potion on his way to cook breakfast that Tonks is able to sit up, rub her face, and truly concentrate on what she does remember.

She remembers Mad-Eye handing her the shiny badge with her name on it, and she remembers beaming at him and being incredibly touched when, with a gruff _congratulations_, he'd patted her awkwardly on the head.

It'd been a momentous occasion, she'd thought, that he'd willingly touched her, and not to yank her out of harms way or pull her up off the ground but to congratulate her. She could've sworn she'd seen a brief expression of pride on his face as he'd said, in his usual growl, "Now enough celebration, I expect you here bright and early Monday morning. Just because you're officially qualified doesn't mean I won't still be testing you. Constant vigilance!"

She remembers keeping herself as composed as possible as she'd walked (and had _not _skipped, no matter how much she'd wanted to) out of his office and all the way to the atrium. She remembers being very proud of her self control as she'd waited until she'd disapparated to her parents' doorstep to squeal in excitement.

She remembers her dad coming to the door and giving her his signature bear-hug and even swinging her around like he used to when she was a kid. She remembers not caring much that she's far too old for those kinds of things, or that her mother had been eying them with a strange mixture of disapproval and pride.

She remembers having dinner with her parents before meeting up with Jane, Will, and Mike, as they'd planned for years, and heading to The Three Broomsticks for drinks. She remembers celebrating with them there and getting tipsy, before Jane and Will had left together and she and Mike'd headed to The Leaky Cauldron for more drinks.

She vaguely remembers hugging everyone on the way in, and she remembers bits and pieces of a conversation in which she had apparently managed to convince Tom to give her free drinks as congratulations. After that, things get a bit hazier.

She remembers the warmth of the alcohol in her stomach and the way things'd got a bit blurry and hard to focus on. She remembers laughing with Mike and teasing him about his relationships.

After that, she remembers snippets of things, and she can't for the life of her figure out what order they happened in. She remembers challenging everyone around her to an arm wrestling competition and she remembers losing the ability to morph larger muscles as the alcohol took over a bit more. She remembers laughing so hard she cried because of Mike's impersonation of Charlie, and she remembers falling off her chair a few times. She remembers arguing not to be cut off from more drinks with Tom, and she remembers her victory dance when he'd agreed to give her more.

She's not quite sure if the memory of her dancing to "Can You Do the Hippogriff" on the tables is real or not (and dear Merlin, she hopes it's not) and she's pretty sure she did, in fact, get lost on the way to the restroom and had to have Mike escort her there. She's not actually too embarrassed about this, though, because her inhibitions are always low (and were completely gone at that point) and after all, he is gay.

The thing she does remember, though, with an absurd amount of clarity, is their trip out of the pub. She remembers teasing Mike about trying to seduce her as he'd carried her bridal style towards the door. She remembers being dropped. She remembers the stranger with sad blue eyes and a gentle voice and how desperate she'd been to take some of the weight he seemed to carry off of him. She remembers how gentle and warm he'd been when he'd checked her head and she remembers Mike's inexplicable coldness towards him. She remembers being dragged off of him when she'd hugged him (which she's quite embarrassed about, because now she _does _remember that he hadn't hugged her back and she's pretty sure she violated his personal space in a major way) and she remembers his face falling back into misery as they'd left.

Tonks shakes her head. She's being ridiculous, and she knows it. She's still slightly miffed at Mike and she knows she shouldn't be; after all, the man had been a complete stranger. She also knows Mike wouldn't ever be intentionally cold to anyone, because he's pretty much the sweetest guy ever (and if he wasn't gay she'd _definitely _go for that).

Besides, Mike's always looking out for her. Maybe, she thinks, he was afraid the man'd try to take advantage of her in her drunken state. But that's absurd and she knows it, because he was gentle and reserved and clearly just concerned about her being dropped.

Maybe, she thinks with a blush, Mike was trying to prevent _her _from taking advantage of the man; after all, she's a friendly drunk, and she knows now (even though it hadn't occurred to her then) that she'd definitely crossed the line of what was considered polite (and she winces at the thought of what her mother'd say if she knew what'd happened).

Yeah, she decides. Mike was trying to keep them both comfortable. There's really not another explanation. Besides, it won't due to be mad at Mike today; Charlie's coming back from Romania because his mother, who she's met once before and absolutely _adores_, threatened him with bodily harm if he didn't visit his family and friends.

And Mike's being sweet now, anyway; he's making her breakfast.

_Yeah,_ Tonks thinks, _no being mad at Mike._

With a groan, she gets up to use his shower and try to make herself at least semi-presentable.

~ o0o ~

Later, after she's got dressed and eaten breakfast with Mike, Charlie arrives and her mind is taken completely off the man from last night. Though at first Charlie's arrival involves lots of catching up and excited hugs and story telling, it soon winds down to a infinitely less comfortable silence during which Tonks begins, not for the first time, to feel like a third wheel.

It's a feeling she's been battling ever since Charlie and Mike'd started dating, and one that she's usually able to dispel, since they've made it clear they don't think of her in that way. Nevertheless, she takes notice when they keep exchanging these _looks_. And she may not be an expert at reading people (she's rather crap at it, actually, which is one thing Mad-Eye always criticises her for), but she knows enough to know that they want some alone time.

So she excuses herself, with some pathetic explanation about a book she wants to find at Flourish and Blotts (because really, even though she enjoys reading, she doesn't have the spare time for it, though Mad-Eye _did _tell her she should update her knowledge on cursed objects incase she encounters one in the field). And though she's pretty sure they both know she's just making excuses to leave them alone, they let her do so. She grabs her wand and promises to floo them about dinner sometime before Charlie leaves and then makes her exit as quickly as possible.

Outside Mike's flat she takes a few moments to just walk a bit, get fresh air, and let her mind settle. She loves being around people, she really does, but sometimes she just needs a bit of time to clear her head, especially after having so much happen in the span of 24 hours.

Eventually, she decides she's not quite ready to go back to her own flat (because she knows there're dishes to do and cleaning she's been putting off and letters to respond to and she really isn't up for that) and makes an impulsive decision to look for a book Mad-Eye'd approve of in Flourish and Blotts. After all, he did say he'd still be testing her, and anything he's ever said to her could be a clue towards what he wants from her and what he'll throw at her next. A suggestion to read even more about cursed objects could mean that he's planning on exposing her to one to see how she'll react. She's definitely not naïve enough to believe he's through training her; it's one of those life-long things with Mad-Eye. Especially since she's freshly qualified and he's hanging around the office for a few more months, she knows she should expect tricks, and lots of them.

She's wondering how badly he'd be willing to endanger her to see if she's been paying attention (and worrying that she'll go into work Monday, touch something on her desk, and end up in St. Mungo's for the twenty-third time since entering the Auror programme) when she stumbles over the doorframe and enters the shop. She breathes in heavily and smiles, realising she has missed books and reading more than she's willing to admit, and heads towards the back, where the more advanced books are kept.

She's going through her third aisle in the Defensive Magic section (having only found one book on curses with just a chapter dedicated to objects, which she fears isn't complex enough for her purposes), when she catches sight of a familiar looking face rounding the corner into her aisle.

It only takes her a split second to recognise the man, and she immediately feels herself blush. He's wearing another cardigan today, this one a bit darker than the one from yesterday but still just as worn, and when his eyes flicker up to hers it's all she can do not to turn and run from the shop. His brow furrows a bit but his blue eyes, the ones she remembers too well, don't light up in recognition, and he instead seems a bit alarmed that she's so blatantly staring at him. Eventually he ducks his head and turns back around, looking uncomfortable, and she recalls, all too late, that she'd held a different morph last night.

She quickly looks back at the book in her hands, very poorly attempting to seem occupied as she desperately tries to remember what she'd looked like. She remembers having her hair pink and spiky, her customary happy shade, and her eyes had been..._bollocks_. She can't remember.

She unconsciously fingers a bit of her hair (which is long, slightly wavy, and mid-night blue-purple today) and recalls that her eyes are a bright blue right now. They were probably her customary dark-dark brown last night, since she can't remember changing them, and she wonders whether she should morph to what she looked like to apologise to him or whether she should take advantage of the fact that he can't recognise her to avoid the embarrassment that that would surely entail. She's definitely leaning towards the cowardly-yet-infinitely-less-excruciating option of pretending not to know him when she looks back over to him and sees something that changes her mind.

The man, who's now moved to a chair in the back and is reading something (and still, inexplicably, being avoided by others in the shop), is approached by a young girl, probably six or seven. She's looking at the cover of the book he's reading curiously; it's a bright red, after all, with golden, raised writing on the cover. The girl shyly meets his eye and makes to trace the letters, and he smiles at her.

Suddenly he's shed ten years, and he looks so much younger and so carefree as he gets up and crouches down to her level, showing her the front and explaining something to her so quietly Tonks can't hear what he's saying. The little girl's eyes are lighting up and she's asking him questions a mile a minute or so, and he's laughing, talking to her. It's easily the most adorable thing she's ever witnessed–seeing guys with children, after all, basically ensures instant attraction.

She's busy swooning over how good he is with kids when a woman who carries herself not unlike Tonks' own mother (primly, regally, with more than a little pride) catches sight of them. At first, an expression of relief crosses her features, and Tonks can tell from her hair and face that she's the little girl's mother. When she gets closer, however, her expression changes into one not too unlike what Mike's face had looked like the night before. She stiffly approaches them and grabs the little girl's arm, none too gently, and drags her away from the man, her face contorting into ugly disgust.

Tonks watches in horror as the mother drags the little girl, not unlike how Mike'd dragged her, away from the man. When they pass, Tonks hears the girl protesting.

"He was just explaining it to me, mummy! It was a book about Godric Gryffindor, the man who started Hogwarts with all his friends. Mummy, he was so _nice_!" Her voice is so certain and so indignant. Her eyes are full of tears.

"You know better than to talk to strangers, Abigail." Her mother says harshly. "Don't go near that-that _filthy_ man again."

Something about her voice, the coldness, makes Tonks cringe. She glances sharply back at the man, and her heart breaks when she sees his expression. For a split second it's absolutely crushed; he looks defeated. And she's not sure why, but the fact that he seems to shake himself out of it after a moment makes her ache even more. He blinks, sighs, and sits back in the chair, his face returning to what seems to be his customary expression: tired, weary, stoic.

It's not the face of a man who's just been treated horribly for no reason, Tonks realises. It's the face of a man who's used to it.

The thought makes her feel a bit sick, and she wants to go after the woman and yell at her, just like she'd wanted to yell at Mike. She's angry, angry with the world and society and everything, because something like that just _shouldn't _happen. And she's sad, too, for him, for the pain in his eyes that she saw at the pub, the pain that makes so much more sense now.

Without giving herself a chance to think better of it, she squares her shoulders, marches over, and plops down in the chair next to him. His shoulders are hunched and he doesn't meet her eyes; she gets the impression that he's trying very hard not to be noticed. When he feels her gaze on him not wavering, however, he glances up.

"Hi." She says once he's looking at her. She almost laughs, thinking of how it's the second time she's greeted him this way, but he still shows no signs of recognition and instead doesn't seem to know what to say back.

She waits for a moment, but when he still looks at her in confusion, seeming disarmed by her friendly expression, she says, "I–er–I wanted to apologise. For last night. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

She can feel her face heating up now, because she probably should've thought of something better to say and she's really not good at these things in general. He still looks confused, and a bit questioning, but he slowly marks his place in his book and shuts it with a light thud.

He still doesn't say anything, though, and so Tonks sighs and looks down at her hands while she scrunches her face up and concentrates. A moment later she feels a tingling as her hair shortens and goes pink, and her eyes buzz a bit as they go back to their natural brown.

When she looks back at him this time, his eyes finally show recognition. "Oh." He says, and then, "I'm sorry. I didn't recognise you at first."

Now it's her turn to be a bit disarmed; he's probably the first person to avoid gaping at her or getting all excited and saying, _oh, so you're a metamorphmagus_. And he's definitely the first man (or first straight man, she supposes) whose eyes haven't lit up with the possibilities. Instead he looks mildly surprised, but he doesn't comment on it at all.

She's really tempted to hug him for that, but then she remembers that she's supposed to be apologising for the very same thing and thinks it probably wouldn't be very appropriate. Instead she settles for, "Don't worry about it! I sort of forgot that you wouldn't recognise me."

And she's stammering, and being horribly awkward, but he's still sort of sitting there, and not really saying anything, and she might as well get the apology over with, she thinks, so she takes a deep breath and continues. "But yeah. I am, y'know, sorry. If I made you uncomfortable. Last night, I mean, when I hugged you. I can get a bit friendly when I've had a few, but I definitely didn't mean to invade your personal space or anything."

She's blushing now, she can tell, and she definitely can't meet his eyes, but it seems perfectly reasonable to continue rambling, since he hasn't interrupted her, so she keeps on going with, "And I'm sorry about Mike, too. Because I guess he was trying to stop me form doing that–making you uncomfortable–but I just...well, I thought he was being kind of rude. And he _did _drop me, so I was kind of mad at him. But that's not really the point. I'm just...yeah. I'm sorry."

When she finally stops talking she's very tempted to just hide her face in her hands (because really, that couldn't have gone much worse), but when she meets his eyes he looks amused again.

And without really thinking about it, she smiles, a bit sheepishly, because he is (or his eyes are, at least), and hey, why not, right? And her smile widens when he returns it and lets out a huff that could be laughter, still looking quite amused. She's pleased with herself, because she got him to smile and she was right–he looks much younger and much handsomer when he smiles. She even lets the fact that she's just thought of him as handsome go, because he's shaking his head, his fringe falling into his eyes, and he looks completely boyish, and really, who wouldn't think he's adorable?

He looks more comfortable now, and Tonks thinks, in some corner of her brain that's not cheering at her own success in making him lose the miserable expression, that he ought to be like this all the time.

"That's all right, um..." he starts, but then stops with a slight frown when he realises he doesn't know her name.

"Tonks," she informs him.

"That's all right, Tonks," he says, and she wants to hug him for not having the usual reaction to that, either, because he, once again, is one of a select few who don't say, _oh, that's an odd name_. "I rather thought I was the one who made your friend–Mike, was it?–uncomfortable."

Now it's her turn to frown at him. "What? No! I think he was trying to keep me from...well, I don't know. It's just, he was supposed to be the sober one last night, and that means he's not supposed to let me do embarrassing things when I'm drunk."

The look on his face tells her he doesn't quite buy it, and she's not at all sure why he'd assume he'd make people uncomfortable. But even _she _knows that it's not the sort of thing you ask about the first time you talk to someone, so she shrugs and changes the subject.

"You never told me your name," she points out, and she really starts to wonder what sort of self esteem issues he must have if he can't even be asked his name without seeming surprised.

"It's Lupin," he says, a second late. "Remus Lupin."

She smiles at him, (because really, _adorable_)and says, "It's nice to meet you, Lupin, Remus Lupin." She manages to keep a straight face, and to her delight, he laughs.

She hadn't heard his laugh when he'd been with the little girl, and now that she has she finds herself thinking horribly clichéd things about it, like that she loves the sound of it and would do almost anything to make him laugh again.

She thinks, in the back of her head, that she should probably be concerned by these thoughts, (because honestly, how can she be so attracted to him after what, five minutes?) but he distracts her by saying, "A fan of muggle secret agents, are you?"

And she nods, glad and a bit impressed that he's caught the reference, and says, "Yeah, my dad's muggle-born and he loves James Bond. And Lord of the Rings. And Sherlock Holmes, of course. He used to read them to my sister and me when we were kids."

He grins at that, seeming just as impressed, and tells her, "It was my mother, for me. Both of my parents had a muggle parent, but my mother was always the one interested in literature."

It's amazing how different he is now–how relaxed, how friendly–and she thinks, _yeah, completely adorable. _

"And what was your favourite growing up?" She asks.

"Oh, for me it was Lord of the Rings. I spent most of my youth looking up to Aragorn. I thought the world of him for overcoming his insecurities and fighting to uphold the kingdom he loved, despite the fact that its people didn't yet view him as one of their own."

His eyes go a bit nostalgic or _something_ when he says it, and Tonks wonders, not for the first time, just what it is that makes him able to say something like that. But she knows, again, that if she pushes too far, she'll make him uncomfortable. And she doesn't want to put that look back on his face, the one the little girl's mother and Michael did.

So she doesn't comment, and instead says, "I always loved Sam, myself. How loyal he was to Frodo, and how he fought for him until the very end."

She shrugs a bit when she says it, feeling kind of foolish at the simplicity of what she's said compared to what he has, but when she looks back at him, he's gazing at her intently.

"You were a Hufflepuff, weren't you?" He asks, and she laughs.

"That transparent, am I, Mr. Gryffindor?" And when he looks slightly surprised, she points to the book that lays forgotten on his lap. "The book's a dead giveaway. Though I suppose, what with the book shop and all, that you could just be an intellectual Ravenclaw. Though I'd still bet on Gryffindor, after your speech about Aragorn."

He smiles again, the slightly crooked one she's beginning to quite enjoy, and tells her, with a mischievous air she'd never have dreamed he'd possess, "I had a bit of help, too."

When she looks confused, he indicates her shirt and she blushes at her own obliviousness when she see's it's her house quidditch shirt. "Oh." She says with a laugh. "I suppose so."

It's funny, she thinks, how easily charmed she is by him. Being attracted to nice people isn't a new thing for her; they're safe, she supposes, and she knows they won't mistreat her. But something about him has drawn her in, and she's a bit confused by it, because they've barely spoken. She wonders if she finds him secretly refreshing compared to all the guys her age, who'd have commented on her morphing and who'd never discuss literature with her. She wonders if she's intrigued by his miserable expression sometimes, by the wall he puts up, by his scars, by the way kindness has so much of an effect on him, by the fact that he has a mischievous side she's dying to know more about. Either way, she thinks, she rather likes Remus Lupin. She barely knows him, and yet she does. More so than she thinks is entirely appropriate.

But to her horror, she can't really think of anything else to say. It's not as if she hasn't been enjoying talking to Remus–she has, more so than many people lately, because he's _interesting, _and not just interested in talking about himself–but she really can't think of another way to make conversation. She knows that her little realisation about liking him–the fact that she actually, consciously thought it–has completely screwed her over. She's never been good at this sort of thing, at meeting people and talking to them and getting to know them, especially when they're men and she's attracted to them, and she suddenly wonders, guiltily, if she's been interrupting him.

A part of her knows that she's only becoming insecure–after all, he made conversation as well. But now that she's had the thought, the doubt grows in her mind and she really can't stop herself from becoming uncomfortable.

"Well," she starts, but doesn't know what else to say.

"Well?" He asks then, and she wonders, idly, if that's him trying to get her to leave or trying to help her out or what it is at all.

"I–er–I suppose I should leave you to your reading, then," she says, still not able to look at him.

"Oh," he says slowly. And then, "Yes. That's–yeah. That would be all right."

And she's confused, suddenly, by the clipped, resigned tone his voice has taken up. They're back to square one–the way he talked to her before she'd introduced herself as the drunk girl from the night before–and when she looks up at him, this time he's not looking at her. The way he's avoiding her eyes reminds her too much of how he'd acted with Mike, though, and suddenly it's worth being awkward again to stop him from doing that.

"Hey, um–" She pauses when he looks up, a bit distracted and unsure, and then goes along with her initial thought, "–Remus, would you-would you mind helping me find a book?"

It's pathetic, she knows, and an obvious excuse to spend more time with him, but she's noticed how at ease he seems in the shop, as if he's a frequent visitor, so she figures she might as well. He's certainly a better option than the cranky lady at the till, and if it means getting to talk to him a bit more she's definitely game.

She's beginning to wonder if he's seeing right through her (which she half suspects he is) and whether or not that's a good thing when he smiles at her, a bit unsurely, and says, "Sure. If that's–if you want."

And she feels like a fourth year again, the way her stomach sort of twists and she can feel her face heating up. "Great, thanks," she tells him, relieved that he's comfortable again. "I was looking for something about cursed objects–something a bit more advanced, y'know? All I could find is this," she pauses, handing him the book on curses she'd found earlier, "but it only has a chapter about objects specifically. And it's a bit too general."

He thankfully doesn't ask about her need for such a book (because while to her friends having just completed Auror training is a huge achievement, she knows he's older than her and doesn't want to scare him off by admitting just how _young _she is) and instead studies the one she'd handed him before saying, "You found this in the 'Defensive Magic' section, I assume?"

"Yeah, only I went through the entire section and this was the best I found," she tells him doubtfully.

He stands and gestures for her to follow him. "Let's check the 'Magical and Muggle Artefacts' section. I have a feeling we'll be more successful there, though I must warn you that the books will probably be rather dry."

Tonks nods, following closely behind him, and then watches as he quickly and carefully scans a row of books, selects four, and hands them to her, telling her he thinks they're her best bet. She reads the backs, selects two to buy, and then hands him the other two with an apologetic expression.

When their hands brush as they exchange the books (and Merlin, she wasn't imagining it last night, he really is so _warm_), she swears she sees his cheeks go a bit pink and she's certain hers have, too.

_Okay_, she thinks, grinning to herself. _I can work with this._

He smiles and carefully puts the books back before turning to her, standing a bit closer than strictly necessary (which she _definitely _doesn't mind). "I hope those help," he says, and his face is so genuine that she can't help but smile.

"I'm sure they will. Cheers, Remus. As dumb as it is, I doubt I would've thought to look here." She tells him, staring up into his face and, not for the first time, struggling to suppress the urge to reach out and trace one of his faint white scars with her fingertips. She half wonders what he'd do if she did, but she knows it's definitely not a socially acceptable thing to do, no matter how much she may suspect that he likes her a bit, too.

He tells her that it really wasn't a problem, and even walks her to the till (the gentleman) and waits in the absurdly long line with her while she pays. They chatter back and forth the whole time, and he's witty, and clever, and quick, and she's definitely not ashamed to admit that she drags her feet on the way to the door (which he, of course, walks her to). When she can't think of another excuse to stay and keep talking to him, she turns to him reluctantly.

There's a not-so-small part of her brain tormenting her, saying that, although she made him smile for a bit, who's to say someone else won't put that damned miserable expression back on his face the second she leaves? And even if she did give him a good thirty or so minutes, what can that really do in the long run?

She has to ignore those thoughts, though, because it's not as if she can suddenly follow him around and protect him from the people who put him down, and really, he's not a child. Besides, what can she do? She's not going to embarrass herself by assuming he'd like to see her again, even though she's fairly certain she'll regret her lack of courage later, and all this really boils down to is a man she's met for half an hour in a book shop.

But as she turns to him, she swears she can see a bit of reluctance on his part, too. "It was nice talking to you," he says, and her heart, ridiculously, sinks a bit. There's a pause, where she gets ready to say a goodbye she really doesn't want to, but he speaks again first. "I wondered–it's dumb, really, but–"

Her heart stutters as she takes in his ducked head and pink cheeks and _yeah, completely adorable, _she thinks again. Her stomach's gone all squirmy and she's so not afraid to admit that she's hoping he's about to say what she thinks he is.

As it happens, she never gets to find out, because suddenly there's a loud, "Tonks!"

She closes her eyes in frustration (because really, Mike has the _worst _timing) and gives Remus and apologetic glance as she turns to see Mike and Charlie heading towards them from outside the shop.

When she turns back to Remus, to ask him to hang on a second or _something_, because she'll be damned if he doesn't finish that sentence, she's horrified to see that he's once again reverted to the slightly ashamed, stoic look that he seems to assume with strangers, with Mike.

And, worse, when she turns around to see Mike, she sees _him_ going back to_ his _slightly terse expression. She's about ready to scream (or maybe hex someone, or even better, _punch _someone) when she hears the last thing she wants to.

"It's all right, Tonks. It was nice meeting you. I'll leave you to your boyfriend." Remus' voice is gentle and resigned all at the same time, and it makes her cringe.

"No!" Is the first thing she blurts out, followed by a rather embarrassingly babbled, "No, don't leave just because–wait, _no_, Mike's not my–I mean, he's gay, that's his boyfriend, and anyway–I mean, you don't have to leave because–"

But Remus cuts her off, not even looking at her, and, in what she'll later understand as an attempt to protect himself but now just takes completely the wrong way, says, "No, really, it's fine. You were right before. I'd like to get back to my reading."

He couldn't have given her that horrible sick feeling in her stomach any better if he'd just slapped her.

_Oh. _

She thinks, feeling ashamed and embarrassed and hurt and dumb all at once.

_Oh. _

She _has_ been bothering him.

She should've realised it earlier, read the signs earlier, yet he'd seemed so interested to talk to her, to help her. His words, though, make her think that he must not have been; after all, she _is_ crap at reading these things. She's been bothering him, hasn't she? And completely oblivious too, which just puts the bloody icing on the cake. How can she possibly have thought he'd be interested in–

It doesn't matter. She's being dumb. It's not like she really even knows him, anyway. It's not like his smile makes her want to smile back without reason to. It's not like she feels her stomach flutter when he laughs. It's not like she loves the sparkle in his eyes. She's being dumb.

"Oh," she finally says, voice sounding small and pathetically soft. "Oh, right. Okay, then." And suddenly she's nodding rather frantically. "Right. Um. Cheers again, then, Remus."

And she can't even look at him as he lingers for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to say anything else or not, before he seems to think better of it and walks away.

She's still looking at her toes and trying to control the bizarre urge to tear up, or maybe just follow him and demand he explain himself to her or something equally inappropriate, when she feels rather than sees Mike and Charlie reach her. She takes a deep breath, plasters a fake grin on her face, and turns to them.

Then, for the second time, she follows Mike away from Remus Lupin.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the ending to this one! It's semi-important that it turns out like this, though, so that chapter 3 can work out. I do sort of want to shake them both for the misunderstanding, though, don't you?_

_Anyway, I feel like while Tonks is attracted to Remus a bit quickly, it's pretty easy to like someone without knowing too much about them, just based on how they make you feel/what they seem to be like. I think she doesn't really understand it herself; at first it's that she hates how sad he looks and wants to comfort him and then she finds herself enjoying his company and then, in the end, she feels embarrassed, sort of wondering whether she's misread everything and if she really was only bothering him._

_I'd love to hear what you thought!_

_Thanks for reading, and chapter 3 should be up soon. It will, of course, feature a third meeting :)_


	3. Chapter 3: Third Time Unlucky

_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who read/reviewed last chapter! And happy 2013 everyone :)_

_This one's a bit weird...which of course means I'm super nervous about it. Ah, well, what can you do? Don't kill Mad-Eye until you get to the very end...then you may have help ;)_

_Chapter 3 is dedicated to Nympie, MAD4moony7, StrawberryFields, and Hannah, who I couldn't PM to thank for their lovely reviews. Thanks so much, all!_

* * *

**Chapter 3 - Third Time **_**Un**_**lucky**

July 19th, 1994

The third time Nymphadora Tonks meets Remus Lupin, she is _so _over what happened the last time they met. Her feelings aren't hurt (not even a little bit) and she definitely _hasn't _been moping over him for the past few weeks. She _certainly _hasn't been going to Flourish and Blotts just to see if she can run into him. She hasn't. It's not like she'd fancied him, anyway. She was being completely daft.

Okay, so _maybe_ the day Charlie and Mike'd interrupted them at the book shop she'd felt a little down after. But her stomach had legitimatelyhurt when they'd gone out for lunch, and her turning in early and refusing to joke around with them was because she'd felt so sick. And it wasn't a kind of hurt sick. It was _definitely_ an actual, virus kind of sick. It wasn't psychological at all. It had nothing to do with him.

And _maybe_, just maybe, she'd hung around her flat all day Sunday. Maybe she'd turned down an offer to be with her friends because she hadn't felt up to seeing them. But it was because she was sick. It had nothing to do with her perceived rejection. Nothing at all.

And perhaps she _had_ been a bit moody at work all day on Monday. Maybe she had been less enthusiastic than people would've guessed, it having been her first day in the Auror office and all, but that had nothing to do with a certain sandy-haired lover of muggle literature.

_No._

It was definitely because Mad-Eye actually _had _cursed a pen on her desk, and she'd been too distracted _not _thinking about Remus Lupin to realise it, so she'd had to go to St. Mungo's. And she was definitely put out all day because of _that_.

Okay, and _maybe_ she'd been a bit down all week. Maybe she'd given Charlie a half-hearted goodbye that she kind of regrets now in the calm, clear light of day. Maybe she was still, ridiculously, resentful of Mike. But it wasn't because he'd prevented Remus Lupin from maybe saying something that might have been asking her out.

No.

It was because he was rude. It didn't matter that it was Remus he was rude to. She was mad at him on principle. For being rude. It had nothing whatsoever to do with an almost-date that hadn't happened because of him.

And _maybe_, in her heart of hearts, she resents him a little bit because she knows it's actually _her _fault, for misreading the signs. Maybe, just maybe, on the absolutely _rare _occasion that she ponders what'd happened at the book shop, she feels so embarrassed that she rather likes assuming it's Mike's fault. Maybe she's a bit embarrassed that she'd thought Remus Lupin might've enjoyed her company, as she'd enjoyed his. Maybe she's a bit embarrassed that she'd let herself become so emotionally attached to someone she hardly knows. Maybe she resents Remus Lupin himself, just a little bit, for hurting her feelings so badly.

And okay, maybe she_ does_ think about it quite a bit, but that's only because he's the first guy she's been into in almost two years and he seemed so damn perfect and she's so completely and utterly confused about _everything. _

_I mean_, she thinks, _it's not as if you can expect a girl _not _to be emotionally confused and preoccupied after an incident like that_. And emotionally confused and preoccupied she is. She can admit it.

Fine.

There.

She did.

She's confused, and hurt, and preoccupied, and all together a mess.

And it's impressive, really, that he can reduce her to such a mess after _thirty _bleeding minutes. There're just so many things she felt–_feels, _whatever–and she can't help but spend a while sorting them out. She's just so...she doesn't even know. She feels like she's lost something, only she definitely never had it to begin with, so that doesn't make sense. And she feels ridiculous, because she doesn't even _know _him, and annoyed, because really, he's managed to make what should be some super exciting first weeks in the Auror office a completely confusing jumble of weird feelings she probably shouldn't have.

Tonks sighs and rests her head on the desk in her tiny cubicle. It's been exactly 17 days since she and Remus met in the book shop. But it's not like she's counting, or anything. And it's a Monday, which is just rotten. Sure, she did just get to go to lunch, but she's still confused about her feelings and feeling dumb for even feeling them, which is not a pleasant sensation.

She's just so _frustrated_. She's frustrated with Mike because his arrival meant Remus hadn't finished what he was going to say. She's frustrated because Mike had, both times he'd seen Remus, adopted a terse expression, and the second time, when she'd walked with him and Charlie to lunch, he'd made some comment about watching who she hung out with. Which was completely unfair, because if she doesn't know Remus, Mike knows him even less.

And she's frustrated with Remus, for pretty much everything. She's frustrated with him for being so damn charming and disarming and completely swoon-worthy. (Which, _okay_, maybe she shouldn't still think that's true, but she sort of does, despite everything, and she's kind of weirded out by that.) She's frustrated with Remus for not just saying whatever it was he'd wanted to say. She's frustrated because she wishes she could read him well enough to be certain of anything, but she can't, and she's not, and she _hates _being unsure. She's also frustrated that he bolted on her (which she's used to people doing, she supposes, but it still _hurts_, coming from him, because she hadn't even got to the whole '_oh, by the way, I'm kinda insecure because men like me for my body, I've got a sob story childhood that causes lots of lovely emotional complications, and oh, I'm also quite a bit younger than you_' part, and she didn't expect him to bolt _before _knowing those things). And yeah, she's hurt by his (maybe) rejection and resents him a bit for it.

And then there's herself. She's furious with herself for being so quick to trust him and have feelings for him. If she even does. Which, _okay_, yes she does, but that doesn't mean she's not allowed to be upset with herself for even having them. And she's upset that she screwed it up, or misread it, and just plain can't make sense of it. Mostly, though, she's furious with herself for letting all of this get to her and affect her so deeply because honestly, it was 30-bloody-minutes, and she has no idea how to make herself stop caring because she really _shouldn't_ care. She doesn't even know if he liked her at all, and all she really wants to do is just forget this all happened (and she is so not afraid to admit that she considered flirting with that Obliviator bloke who stares at her sometimes to get him to erase the memory, because she could _definitely _go for that right now).

So yeah. She's just a little messed up about this.

And when Mad-Eye comes in and drops a file on her desk, saying, "Look alive, lass, I've got a case for you," and she opens it to see Remus-bloody-Lupin's name staring at her in capital letters, she may just freak out a little bit.

But only a little.

She definitely doesn't hyperventilate.

Or space out when she sees him blinking up at her from some sort of mugshot.

And her mind 100% doesn't reel or anything like that when she sees the word _werewolf _under his name.

No, she's completely cool about it.

Except that she definitely isn't.

Her lungs are having a hard time functioning (and her heart is _long _gone by this point) and there's that moment when she stares at those three things–the picture, the name, the subtext–and does the whole I-can't-even-have-a-coherent-thought-right-now thing.

When her body and brain are finally running again, and her thoughts've caught up enough to process the fact that Mad-Eye's standing there, waiting for her to say something, she blinks.

And then, when the words don't reassemble, and Mad-Eye doesn't say, _Ha! Just kidding! Had you going though, didn't I?, _she realises that she's actually going to have to do something, because this is real life.

So she blinks again, takes a deep breath, and tells herself, _okay, Tonks. Here's what we're going to do. The werewolf thing? Yeah, we're filing that away to deal with later. Mad-Eye's here, and if he knows you know the subject of the case, he won't let you take it. And this is your first solo case, so you have to take it. _

And then, with her mind made up, she looks up at him. "A case?"

He nods, and doesn't look too concerned, so she thinks that whole freaking out thing must not've lasted as long as she thought. "Yes. And I'm letting you go it alone, so don't mess it up, yeah?"

She does her best to look confident and nods at him. "Of course not."

Then she glances back at the file, looks briefly at the first page (which is only basics on Rem–_the subject_) and looks back at Mad-Eye. "What am I supposed to do, exactly?"

It's a pretty undignified question, but usually a case folder has a report of sorts in it–reported stolen goods, reported illicit happenings, etc–and she's never got just a personal file before.

Mad-Eye huffs impatiently, telling her, "There've been reports of illegal behaviour. As you know, the Ministry takes these reports seriously, especially if the subject of such allegations–"

"–is a werewolf, I know." Tonks finishes for him, because she's not _that _dull, and she knows that reports against a person without any real evidence (and there must not be real evidence, or Mad-Eye would've said and someone higher up would've got the case) usually aren't checked up on. But it's different when the person is "high-risk". And Tonks knows that lycanthropy, just like a past history of criminal behaviour, lands someone under the "high-risk" category.

"Exactly." Mad-Eye growls, eying her closely as always. "The accusations are nothing that can be backed up and are vague–violent behaviour, illegal dealings, the usual–but the Ministry believes it should be looked into."

Tonks nods, forcing herself to continue thinking of a Mr. Lupin, not of Remus, of some unattached and completely random suspect. She can't let her emotions interfere, even if they're screaming that Remus would never do something violent or illegal. She has to separate the emotional and logical right now.

"So what do they want me to do?" She asks, absently thumbing through the file. "Go to his residence, poke around?"

"You're not allowed to enter his residence without his permission or an order from the Ministry. You don't have an order, though if you meet with him and his behaviour is suspicious, that along with his lycanthropy could get you one pretty easily. All you need to do is go there and try to get him to admit to something in order for us to investigate further."

"And what if he's innocent?" Tonks asks, mouth suddenly dry. Will he pick up on the hope hidden in her voice? Or does he know that she hates the idea of _trying _to get someone to seem like they're misbehaving?

"It's still your duty to get to the bottom of the allegations," Mad-Eye tells her gruffly. "Whatever it takes."

"I didn't go through all of this to become an agent provocateur," Tonks mutters, and she's proud of the venom in her voice.

When she glances up, she's glad she's said what she did. Because it may just be her, but she swears for a split second that Mad-Eye looks pleased. But then the expression is gone and he's turning to go. "Report to me at the end of the day. That gives you just under four hours–it should be plenty of time."

And then he's gone.

There's a moment when Tonks just sits there, dazed, and then she starts to shake a little bit. Her thoughts for the next five or so minutes consist mostly of _oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god. _And then _okay, okay, it's going to be okay, okay, I just have to calm down, it's going to be–oh, my god!_

And then eventually she decides the best approach would be to think things through one by one.

So, first, the werewolf thing.

Yeah.

Nope, she's definitely not ready to go there. She'll deal with that one later.

Okay, so the whole don't-be-emotionally-involved-with-suspects thing.

Yeah, she should think about that one.

Well, it's obviously too late to pretend she's not emotionally invested. Because yeah. She so is. But it's also too late to go running after Mad-Eye and tell him that, because that should've been the first thing she told him and now that she hasn't she can't very well go up to him and suddenly explain that she knows the suspect. Especially because "knowing" him consists of a 30-minute-long conversation that hasn't left her head in weeks. She'd look foolish if that happened, and immature, and unprofessional, and really, it's much better to just go through with this. Besides, it's her first chance to have a case of her own, and she is _not _going to screw this up.

But then again, what if it turns out he's guilty and this whole thing turns into a complex investigation? If that happens, he might be able to use their personal relationship (or lack thereof, but that's _really _not the point right now) against her. Then again, she's about 98% certain he's done nothing wrong. And she should really be worried that she already can think that, can trust him so completely without having any real reason to, but...she's just got a feeling. And she knows she's not supposed to trust her gut _too_ much, but she's pretty certain he hasn't done anything, so it should be okay.

_Okay_, she thinks, _that one's solved_.

And so that leaves the werewolf thing. She's still not really ready to face that one, but it's sort of now or never.

She flips open his file and reads, quickly, about his childhood. Only child; both parents now deceased; father named John, mother named Mary; father employed by the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, mother owned a bakery; father quit his job in 1964 following his toddler being bitten by Fenrir Greyback; parents put resources into attempting to cure son, was afflicted with lycanthropy anyway; enrolled in Hogwarts when he turned 11, under the supervision of Albus Dumbledore; parents divorced in 1973, citing personal differences; was safely away from the other children while he transformed; excelled in all of his studies, wanted to be a healer; unable to pursue that line of work, became unemployed; member of the first Order of the Phoenix, fought in the War; became a private tutor; takes Wolfsbane every full moon to retain his mind so he won't be a danger to others when transformed; hired by Dumbledore in 1993 to become DADA professor; resigned after June full moon. The last thing in the file is a clip from the _Daily Prophet_, written by Rita Skeeter, criticising Dumbledore for allowing a "dark creature" to teach at Hogwarts School.

And when she's done reading the file, done being objective, she allows her emotions to take over.

_Oh, god, he was a _child. _A helpless child. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault and he spent his early childhood in and out of St. Mungo's and he had to go through painful tests and transformations when he should've just been playing with toys and he had to think of himself as a monster early on and his parents fought and his father was probably wrought with guilt and it destroyed his family and he had to be strong for his parents and he went through so much pain and other little kids probably wouldn't play with him because he was different and ill so often and yet he's still so gentle and he wanted to be a healer and to help other people and he's such a good person and he's so good with kids and it isn't fair, it isn't fair for Rita Skeeter to ruin that and it isn't fair that he had to resign and he's so gentle and he tries so hard not to hurt other people and oh, god. _

Eventually, when she's thought about it all, and thought some more, she finds herself staring at his picture, tears in her eyes, and she thinks, _oh. _

And suddenly everything makes sense.

It makes sense why he'd looked so sad at the pub. It'd been, what, July 1st? And he'd just been outed...the article in the _Prophet _was dated June 24th, the day after the June full moon. She isn't dumb; she knows about what happened at Hogwarts, when Sirius Black escaped. (And he, too, she thinks, has been dealt an unfair hand in life, and he's her cousin and she knows he _must _be innocent, even if she can't prove why or how, because her mum believes him, and believes him with such fire and such passion that he can't possibly be guilty, and yeah, it could cost her her job to admit, but she's _glad_ he's free.) But Remus, she sees from his file, despite being a suspected participant in his escape, had been cleared since he was transformed.

And it also, suddenly, makes sense, everything that Mike and the girl from the book shop's mother had done. They'd reacted to Remus–no, she reminds herself, Mr. Lupin–because they knew he was a werewolf. And after, when she'd asked why, Mike'd said, "you don't read the _Prophet _at all, do you?". And this is why. _He'd _seen the article.

She sighs, running a hand over her face. This has all, if possible, become even _more _complicated, even _more _emotionally charged.

But out of everything, out of all the new feelings she's been presented with, she's certain about one thing, and one thing only: her feelings for Remus Lupin have not been at all diminished since she found out about his lycanthropy. If anything, they've grown.

She almost snorts at the thought. Her mum would _freak_, and Mike would too, and probably even Charlie, and yet...she can't bring herself to feel anything other than sympathy for him. She doesn't pity him, doesn't feel disgusted by him, isn't afraid of him. Perhaps, if she'd known about his lycanthropy when she'd first met him, she would've felt one of those things. She might've been afraid of him, if she'd known. She has, after all, read the horror stories about Greyback.

And yet? She _knows _him. Well, she doesn't really, but she feels like she does. And despite the fact that she knows he could've been deceiving her, she can't bring herself to believe he's not the gentle, genuine man she met at Flourish and Blotts. His file says it all; he takes Wolfsbane because he doesn't want to hurt or infect anyone else. He teaches children. He wanted to be a Healer, just like she once had.

No. If anything, she feels more respect for him now. For being as kind as he is, despite the fact that society in general treats him like scum. For being kind to a little kid, even though her mother could look at him with disgust. For taking care of her when she'd been dropped, even though her friend had already made it clear he was going to judge him.

Tonks sighs again, this time banging her head against the desk a few times for good measure. When did these things get so messed up? How on earth is she going to face Remus Lupin now, knowing all she knows? How is she possibly going to be able to look into his eyes and question him? How on earth is she going to, in good conscience, go to his flat and become the kind of person who put that damn expression on his face, the kind of person who'd interrogate him for claims a prejudiced person probably made? How can she bring herself to do something so against everything she feels in her heart?

She curses a few times and then stands up. Waiting here will only make it harder. She's got to go. It's her job. She has to go, to question him. Then she can come back, and...she doesn't even know what she'll want to do next. But this is her job. She has to prove herself. She has to do it.

Tonks grabs her badge, straightens her Auror robes, and heads to the atrium. She looks at the address in the file before shrinking it and sticking it in her pocket. She forces herself to focus on taking each step, on taking each breath. She has to do this. She _can _do this.

That hyper-focused attitude gets her to his front step, gets her hand up to the door, and then? She stops.

Takes a deep breath.

And another.

Wipes her sweaty palms on her jeans.

Fiddles with one of her rings.

Forces herself to knock.

Her knuckles seem to hit the door in slow motion. The second she stops knocking the silence is deafening.

There're a few beats of absolute, crushing silence.

Then a shuffling sound on the other side of the door.

It's all she can do not to apparate away, or wince, or hide her face, or morph into another Auror. The thought had occurred, and it was almost painfully tempting, but she can't, in good conscience, deceive him like that. Besides, she's required by law to identify herself, and it's illegal for her to lie about her identity. He'll recognise her last name anyway, she's sure.

She hears the unlocking of a deadbolt and then the door knob turns agonisingly slowly.

The door opens.

There he is.

His immediate reaction will haunt her for the rest of her life.

For a split second, he looks surprised. His eyes met hers, and she _knows, _she just _knows_, that he recognises her, despite her shoulder-length purple hair. She's left her eyes natural, for him.

Then her stomach plummets as he smiles. He bloody _smiles_. A crooked grin that reaches his eyes. He's _happy. _He's _happy_ and _excited_ to see her. His eyes are _hopeful. _

"Tonks!" He says, his voice warm. Surprised, but warm. "To what do I owe–"

And then he catches her expression.

His eyes flit down to her robes, the robes that identify her as _N. Tonks, Auror_.

And his face shuts down.

The smile vanishes.

His eyes extinguish.

He stands straighter, suddenly uncomfortable.

His mouth forms a thin line.

When his eyes met hers again, they're not, as she's expecting, stoic.

Instead, there's hurt.

And betrayal.

And confusion.

And then, slowly, as if he's allowing her to see it, the wall goes back up.

And there's nothing.

"Auror Tonks." he says curtly, voice devoid of any emotion.

There's a moment, then, when she's sure that she's going to throw up. Or maybe pass out. And when the feeling passes, leaving her feeling mildly sick and horrifyingly upset, she almost wishes for it back. Because honestly, at this point, unconsciousness would be a wonderful holiday.

Instead she swallows, trying to regain the ability to speak.

She opens her mouth.

Nothing comes out.

She closes her eyes, frustrated with herself, and opens her mouth again.

"Mr. Lupin."

Her voice sounds weak and shaky, even to her.

His eyes flash hurt again.

She looks away, down at her hands, and then takes a deep breath and looks back up at him. She has to do this.

"The Ministry has received word that you have been preforming illegal and violent acts," she tells him, and she forces herself to keep his gaze, despite the heaviness in her stomach and everything, _everything _in her body screaming to her that this is wrong. "It is the view of the Ministry that these allegations require further investigation."

Remus is still a blank slate. He shows her nothing. He doesn't say anything, either, at first. There are a few moments of silence, and then, just before she's about to say something, _anything_, he speaks.

"Would you like to come in?"

His voice is still emotionless, but the question catches her off guard.

"N-no," she says, and then, pathetically, "not unless you want me to. Are you aware of your rights, Mr. Lupin?" She asks, throwing in the Mr. Lupin to remind herself as much as him why she's here and who she's here as.

She winces internally at her patronising tone, but he nods curtly. "Yes."

"Then you know you're not obligated, by law, to ask me to come in," she presses, wondering why his politeness hurts. She supposes it's because she would prefer him angry, or indignant, as he deserves to be, but instead he's polite, and a gentleman, and it makes her want to hug and slap him all at once.

"I know that," he responds monotonously. He gives her just long enough to open her mouth to say what, she isn't sure, before he speaks again. "I also know that I have the right to request a different investigating Auror until such a time as there is hard evidence that I've committed some sort of crime. I don't even need to agree to speak with you."

The words make her stomach, if possible, feel even heavier. And hurt worse. And she's pretty sure this kind of hurt shouldn't be felt all over, but she does feel it all over. And she's not sure why it hurts that he wants someone else, or more specifically that he _doesn't _want her, but it does. She should be grateful, she knows. It's much easier for both of them if someone else does this. But it still hurts.

"If that's your wish, Mr. Lupin, then I can contact my superior and he can preform the investigation himself." The words feel leaden as she says them, and she's vaguely aware that her own voice sounds extra-stiff to hide the hurt.

She's not quite sure she's managed it.

"That's my wish." He responds, toneless as ever.

"In that case, you can expect to be contacted by Mr. Alastor Moody within the next week," she says, and then, "Goodbye, Mr. Lupin."

Her hands are shaking as she prepares to turn and leave, and she knows she'll get as far as apparating before her face breaks and–she doesn't even want to think of what'll happen next. Maybe she'll be sick. Maybe she'll cry. She's never felt this horrible before. It's like being in trouble and getting caught mixed with guilt over something she's done and feeling physically ill, all multiplied by at least a million.

Then his face breaks for a moment and she stops. He looks almost...relieved? She can't quite tell. It borders amusement, even, and it's enough to make her freeze.

"Wait," he says, and then he gets that amused-relieved-disbelieving-hopeful look once more. "Wait," he repeats, then looks back at her, only this time he has that twinkle in his eye again. "You said Mad-Eye sent you?"

And all of a sudden it hits her. It hits her, and she wants to laugh and cry and _murder _Mad-Eye all at once, and she feels fairly certain that her knees are going to buckle soon, but she still can't _quite _believe it.

Her voice sounds faint and she's a bit dizzy as she stammers out, "No...no, he _wouldn't_," but she's not quite sure she believes her own words.

He would, wouldn't he?

He _would _test her like this.

This is a test.

It _has_ to be.

He'd told her he'd still be testing her. He'd _told _her that. And this was just another one of his tests.

Only this time it involved someone else, and that was just too cruel, but...was it? Was it _really_?

Suddenly, something Mad-Eye'd told her resurfaces in her brain. _You can never trust any stereotype you're told, lass,_ he'd said once, _don't let any preconceived notions convince you that someone's more guilty than anyone else. This "high-risk" Ministry bollocks will lead you into criminalising an innocent person if you aren't careful. _

And it's true. She remembers that, remembers Mad-Eye's annoyance at the Ministry for including lycanthropes and other "dark creatures" on the "high-risk" list. He thought only people who'd previously committed crimes should be on it. This was a test, it was all a test, it was never–

"Mad-Eye sent you," Remus repeats suddenly, and it hits her again.

"The Order," she blurts out, still sagging with relief. "That was the clue. The Order–you call him Mad-Eye because–bugger, I can't believe I fell for it!"

She feels like slapping herself. She's known, since he first took her on as his protégé, that Mad-Eye'd been one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix. And she'd read the same in Remus' file, only she hadn't thought of it until now. She hadn't connected the dots. Why would Mad-Eye, who fought alongside Remus during the war, send her after him?

"Bugger," she mutters again, because really, she shouldn't have missed that, and then, "Remus, I'm sorry–"

But when she meets his eyes he's smiling again, just like before, and she feels the relief coming even stronger, because she was so _sure _she'd never see him look at her like that again. And then, to her delight, he laughs.

He begins to laugh, shaking his head, and she finds herself laughing with him, the relief leaving her with a sort of mild euphoria and she feels so _light _that she's laughing with him like this. And then she just sighs, and with her breath all her negative emotions leave.

"I'm going to kill him," she tells Remus a moment later, because even though she's okay now it was so _cruel _for Mad-Eye to put Remus through that, even if her mentor couldn't have known about their past.

Remus looks amused again. "If it makes you feel any better," he says, a wry grin forming, "he's sent quite a few Aurors to 'investigate' me over the years. He usually warns me first, though."

Tonks shakes her head, body still swimming in disbelief. "I just–I can't believe–I'll _kill _him!" She says again, because now that she's calmer, that really is all she can think. She's going to absolutely _murder _Mad-Eye for putting her through this, for putting Remusthrough this. She may be relieved at not having to do this with Remus, but still, she feels angry with Mad-Eye for making her go this far.

And furious with herself for her behaviour.

Suddenly, as she thinks about it–about how stiff she'd been to him, about his reaction to seeing her, about how betrayed he'd been–she's so, _so _ashamed. And she feels her smile die, feels her face twist into a miserable expression as she thinks of what she's put them through, of what he must think of her now.

She may have realised the trick, but it was too late. The damage has been done. Remus may be laughing now, but what could he possibly think of her?

Her sudden quietness and expression have not slipped past Remus, nor has the way she is suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

She can tell, because his chuckle at her declaration of murder dies suddenly and she can hear him approaching her.

"Tonks?" He asks, very quietly. "Is everything all right?"

When she shakes her head miserably, horrified by the tears she feels forming, but says nothing, he speaks again.

"It's all right, you know. I'm not angry with you. You were set up to fall for this. I mean, it's Mad-Eye we're talking about. You didn't do anything wrong." His words and voice are so _achingly _gentle that Tonks feels a few tears fall.

"No," she says thickly, voice wavering. "I didn't, I just–I didn't do anything _right_, either. Merlin, I've screwed things up–"

And then there's a warm weight on her shoulder, and she glances to the side to see that it's Remus' hand, that he's comforting her, and he says, "Tonks, it's all right–"

But suddenly she's a bit hysterical, and 17 days worth of confusion and doubt and guilt and _hurt_ all come to a head and she shakes her head, saying, "No, it's not all right. Nothing's all right! Mad-Eye, he–and I fell for it, fell for it just like he'd planned–and I shouldn't even _be _here, not with the way I feel–I mean, you're a werewolf–"

Remus goes still, and very quickly removes his hand from her shoulder. "Oh," he says, and then, "that's–right. I guess I should've expected, now that you know–it's all right."

Except all of a sudden _nothing _is all right, because she's gone and done it again and he has that _damn _miserable expression back on his face. And he's leaving her side now, retreating back into his flat.

"It was nice meeting you, Tonks," he says stiffly from his doorway. "I'm sorry for any inconvenience I've caused you today."

And then his door shuts with a hollow thud and she's left standing there, completely stunned.

She stays still for a moment, looking at his door in dumb surprise, until the sound of another door on another floor opening and closing brings her back to her senses and she turns on the spot and disapparates to a park in downtown London near the employee entrance of the Ministry.

There, she sinks onto a bench, far from ready to talk to Mad-Eye, and numbly tries to reconstruct her conversation with Remus. What had she said? What had she said to completely botch things once again?

She tries to remember what she'd been babbling in her hysteria. _I shouldn't even be here, _she'd said, and then, _not with the way I feel–I mean, you're a werewolf... _

And _oh_, she thinks again.

Oh, shit.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry about the not-happy ending of the chapter again! Poor Tonks, only puts her foot in her mouth. In case it wasn't completely clear (it might not be, and it'll be further explored next chapter), Remus couldn't follow Tonks' separate thoughts since she was spitting them out at him so quickly. What she said sounded to him like, "I shouldn't be here, not with the way I feel; I mean, you're a werewolf." and since this is Remus, who pretty much thinks nobody will accept him, he misinterprets her. She's trying to say she shouldn't interrogate him if she feels emotionally attached to him and then she's about to go on to say Mad-Eye was assuming she'd be prejudiced, but it doesn't quite come out that way. _

_Anyway, I hope the chapter was believable and I'd love to know what you thought! Things will get happier, I swear._

_Thanks for reading! Chapter 4 will be up soon!_


	4. Chapter 4: The Real Poison

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read/reviewed last chapter! It means a lot to me!_

_This chapter's pretty much dialogue-free (sorry!) but the majority of it is in Remus' POV, so maybe that helps? I thought it was necessary to go through Remus' side of things because his thoughts through this whole thing are obviously different from Tonks'. It's important to understand where he is emotionally (i.e. nowhere very healthy) before they meet again! We'll hear from Tonks a bit at the end, too ;) _

_If it's not clear, it takes place right after Tonks leaves at the end of the last chapter but it's Remus looking back on the past few weeks._

_Chapter 4 is dedicated to ani, Nympie, StrawberryFields, Hannah, and MAD4moony7, who I couldn't PM to thank for their reviews last chapter. Thank you so much all of you!_

* * *

**Chapter 4 - The Real Poison**

July 18th, 1994

The first time Remus Lupin met Nymphadora Tonks, he was less drunk than he'd wanted to be, moping, and in a miserable state that he was far too familiar with.

He'd just been forced to resign from his job as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and, beyond the loss of a source of steady income and a sense of belonging somewhere, it'd all served as a brutal reminder of the myriad opportunities his lycanthropy has prevented him from having. Not even knowing Sirius had never betrayed him was enough for the first few days after he'd lost the job; it'd seemed too little, too late, especially with Sirius immediately on the run.

Now, a few weeks later, as he shuts the door to his flat (and, he can't help but think in his state of poetic dejection, his heart), he thinks that Tonks might be just another one of those things that he can't have because of his lycanthropy.

He sighs as he stands on the other side of the door, lingering there as if pathetically hoping she'll knock again, or ask to be let in, or make him realise he's misheard her, or _something_, but it's silent. He's just beginning to chastise himself for standing there like one of his teenage students when he hears the distinct _pop_ of disapparition.

She's gone.

Forcing himself to do something other than stand there miserably, he shuffles into the kitchen of his cramped flat, where he slowly and methodically brews a cup of tea. It's futile, he knows, to try and prevent himself from thinking, from replaying the past few minutes in his head, and yet he doesn't want to let himself think because he knows the thoughts will be painful.

Slumping into a shabby chair in his dual living room/study, he decides he won't be able to do anything else without being distracted until he lets himself sort out his thoughts. Usually he'd reserve this sort of thing for a long walk, only it seems as if today the weather's feeling as blue as he is and the rain that's just started up looks particularly unforgiving, so he resolves to just sit in instead. After starting a fire with his wand, he wraps both hands around the chipped mug that holds his tea and lets his thoughts drift back to Tonks.

He'd been low, very low, when they'd first met, though he's surprised she even remembered it the next day, drunk as she was. He'd seen her come in, seen her hug each and every person in the packed pub she'd passed, seen the way she'd gushed to the man she was with and Tom at the bar and pretty much anyone she seemed to be able to get to listen to her.

She'd annoyed him, at first. He supposes now that he'd been jealous of her without really thinking about it; the way her bright smile didn't at all fade even when she fell from her stool and tripped and argued with Tom had seemed almost offensive to him, upset as he was. She was in every way his opposite at that moment and, while he was letting himself wallow in self pity, it'd been very easy to dislike her without having a real reason to. He'd have been annoyed, he supposes, to see anyone being so happy when it had seemed, at the time, as if he'd never be happy again (because despite his reputation for being logical and level-headed, Remus is, he cannot deny, prone to being dramatic when he's very depressed).

But she'd been loud, and brash, all over at once, and even though he'd tried to continue wallowing in his corner and tuning her out, his gaze had kept darting to her, to the woman with the bright pink hair. And after he'd got over his initial annoyance, he'd been able to smile slightly at her quirkiness; the way she'd done a very clumsy victory dance after being poured a drink by Tom, the way she'd talked animatedly to her friend who'd looked, for all the world, as if he was trying very hard not to let her know he was only humouring her...it'd all been very endearing.

And then, ridiculously, his heart had sunk as he'd watched the other man pick her up and carry her bridal style towards the door, because it wasn't as if he really thought he wanted, necessarily, to know her. It'd been so long since he'd even had a friend (with the exceptions, he thinks with a pang, of the professors he's worked along side this past year), and he'd almost, for once, wanted to reach out to someone. He now tells himself it'd been the alcohol speaking, but he remembers, hazily, thinking that she'd be a good friend, the kind of friend that would share her happiness.

He'd already been on his way out when her friend'd picked her up to leave (having seen the near emptiness of the pub as a good time to emerge from his corner because he'd thought he had less of a chance of being noticed and recognised), and he'd frozen in his tracks when he'd obviously been recognised anyway by none other than the woman with the pink hair's friend.

They'd both frozen and she'd tumbled to the ground, and he'd avoided eye contact with the friend only to accidentally make it with her. It'd all been even more endearing after that, with her stumbled attempt to stand and general drunkenness when he'd tried to see if she had a concussion. He'd been amused by her, he remembers, and he remembers that it'd been the first time he'd smiled, if only with his eyes, since he'd resigned from Hogwarts. He remembers freezing when she'd thrown her arms around him (because, if he was being honest, it was the first time in a while that someone had touched him at all, let alone with that level of intimacy) and he remembers his heart returning to its former place of anguish when her friend had dragged her away.

That night, he'd tried to talk himself out of whatever absurd feelings he'd thought he'd had, but he'd be lying if he said she hadn't graced his dreams.

The next morning, when they'd met again, it'd been even more surreal than before.

Their whole encounter in the book shop had been such a surprise in so many ways and such a failure of his in so many others. He'd been so surprised, he remembers, to see her again; he wonders, if he hadn't been so preoccupied by trying to find something to read to distract himself, if he would've recognised her, even with the morph. After all, it was only the colours that'd changed; her facial structure had been pretty similar. But she'd had to morph back for him to recognise her, and he'd felt bad enough that she'd had to that he'd carefully avoided mentioning her abilities any further.

Crazy at it is, he thinks, to feel he can somehow relate to her just because she isn't exactly human either, it had occurred to him how much it might bother her to have people constantly commenting on it. It'd all been so strange, though, for her to not only talk to him but also make him feel comfortable. He'd gathered early on that she had no idea he was a werewolf, despite the horribly shameful scene she'd witnessed with the young girl Abigail and her mother, and he'd failed in one way by not telling her.

He'd just got so caught up in her, in their conversation, in the way she could make references to muggle literature and make him laugh and smile and feel _light_ for the first time in ages. He'd been so at ease with her, and it'd been such a brilliant contrast to what his life has been like to feel so carefree that he'd acted completely unlike the man he's become. He'd let himself go with it, for once, instead of stopping and over thinking and analysing and doubting. He'd let himself talk to her, just him, just Remus, and he'd been so transfixed by her that he'd forgotten to worry about his age or his lycanthropy or anything else. And it had, in so many ways, been completely sublime.

But then, in the end, he'd failed again. When he'd heard Tonks' friend call her over, when he'd realised just how little he knew about her and just how bold he was being, he'd curled back into himself, back into the careful shell of Remus Lupin that he's so used to being. And now, more than ever, he regrets that, regrets not just asking to see her again like he'd wanted to. Because sure, he was acting boldly, and sure, it would've been a risk, but it would have been worth it, he thinks now, to have put himself out there for once in his life, because rejection from her surely couldn't be as horrible the regret afterwards had been.

Either way, he'd hesitated too long, had been too cowardly, and he'd let her slip through his fingers. The one person he's had a connection with in ages...he's still ashamed that he hadn't the courage to ask her._ Some Gryffindor you are_, he'd thought to himself miserably for days afterwards.

In the weeks that have followed, up until today, he's gone over their conversation in his head countless times, and countless times he's wondered if he'd misread the signs. But he, despite how foolish he feels to be so drawn to her and so taken with her right away, somehow thinks that maybe he wasn't exactly alone. She had, after all, made a fairly obvious excuse to spend time with him (which had made his stomach feel all weird and knotty like it hadn't done since school, and he'd felt horribly foolish as he'd fought down a blush and followed her to look for a book). And when their hands had touched, he'd seen a blush touch her cheeks, just as he'd felt one touch his. He surely couldn't have imagined the way they'd both dragged their feet to the door, and even if he'd missed all of those signs he knows that she wouldn't have so desperately corrected his mistaking Mike as her boyfriend if she hadn't liked him, too. Or that's what he's been trying to tell himself.

He knows Sirius would be telling him these things, at least. It's funny, the way the semi-confident voice in his head has taken to sounding like Sirius again. It'd always been like that in school; Sirius had so often convinced him to be bold that, whenever they were apart, the bold side of his conscience sounded like Sirius. Then, when James and Lily had died, the voice had vanished, along with his willingness to take risks. But now, now that Sirius is back (which has been the single thing to lift his spirits despite the rest of his life going to absolute _shit_), the voice has come back too, and it's been trying to convince him that she felt for him just as he did for her.

And, for once, he's let it; up until now, that is. In the weeks that've followed, he's thought of her a lot, and pined over her like a school boy, and fantasised about running into her again. Which is why, this afternoon, when he'd heard a knock at his door and opened it to see her, he'd been so wonderfully shocked.

And he, forever, will feel foolish and ashamed that his immediate reaction was happy surprise. Because it was dumb, really, for him to have even let himself think she'd somehow tracked him down. But he'd seen her and let himself stop thinking and just smile and greet her and act like a colossal fool. He's chagrined, really, that he wouldn't have thought something grimmer by the expression on her face. But that hadn't been his focus, not at first; he'd seen her eyes and her hair and he'd not been as alert as he should've.

But when he'd seen the hard line of her mouth and set expression and when he'd seen her robes, the robes that identified her as _N. Tonks, Auror_, he'd been...there'd been too many emotions at once. Hurt. Betrayal. Confusion.

It'd taken him a while, he remembers, to get the wall up.

He's not sure he remembers when he'd decided to leave it down around her.

And then it'd been agony, for the first few moments; pure betrayal and thoughts running a mile a minute in his head. But when her voice had caught and she'd been so obviously hurt by it as well, he'd realised that she was just as helpless to circumstance as he was. Her demeanour made it obvious that she hadn't known about her mission when they'd met, as he'd at first suspected. It'd been clear to him then that she hadn't been pretending in the shop, and he'd immediately stopped feeling betrayed and started feeling sorry for her. Absurd as it was, he'd felt sympathetic, for he was sure that she'd been assigned a mission she couldn't get out of that had forced her to face him this way. The shame she felt was written across her face.

He'd requested another auror then, thinking it'd be easier for both of them, and the hurt on her face had almost made him change his mind until she'd mentioned Alastor Moody.

It'd seemed almost surreal again, the way it had all suddenly made sense. He'd been almost giddy with relief and he could tell she'd been, too, and he'd been frustrated with Mad-Eye for not telling him earlier, as he usually did when he sent newly qualified Aurors over, and frustrated with himself for not thinking of it (because although the Ministry was legally allowed to check into various allegations without probable cause because of his lycanthropy, he was usually left alone).

But then she'd been upset by her inability to see the trick and he'd realised, by her words, that she must have thought he'd be angry with her, or hurt, which he wasn't at all. That's the crazy thing, now, for him to think that he's not mad at her for that. But really, how can he be? She was, as he'd told her, set up to fall for Mad-Eye's trap, and he cannot resent her for taking orders, especially when she's so new to the office and so obviously trying to prove herself.

No, he doesn't resent her for following orders. In the end, he only feels more respect for her, for the fact that she managed to become an Auror in the first place.

_Brilliant_, he thinks to himself. _You're even more taken with her now, even after all of this..._

But he is. He really is.

Though, of course, he's now sure that she is in no way taken with him.

He should've known, really, that she'd have learned of his lycanthropy when she got the mission. He should've realised she'd have read his file and made sense of her friend's and the little girl's mother's behaviour. He should've realised his scars would suddenly make sense to her, his shabby clothes. She'd put it all together, and she'd made it fairly clear that her feelings about him being a werewolf were just what he feared.

_If they were bad enough that she didn't even think she should've come_, he thinks, _then she's obviously disgusted by you._

Which he should really be used to by now, he supposes. That should be the reaction he always expects. Only it feels different this time, because she seemed a bit different. Or maybe he'd only imagined her as different, or wished she would be, or–

_It doesn't matter,_ he reprimands himself.

_She isn't. _

He can still her her voice, trembling and hysterical, saying, _you're a werewolf_, as if it's on some sort of repeat in his head.

He understands, he supposes. He's used to it. It stings more this time, but he really shouldn't have suspected anything else. He'd let himself hope, and that's where he went wrong.

Because it's hope, he thinks, that's the real poison.

He'd learnt to deal with a state of constant listlessness, solitariness, and depression in the years after James and Lily'd died, when he'd tutored and got small jobs here and there, making a living and retiring to his flat day after day, learning not to expect anything from the world.

He'd had his once chance, had his shot at happiness, but then once upon a November morning he'd opened the newspaper and it'd crumbled before his very eyes. And in the years after, the years of agony and loneliness so crippling he'd barely breathed, he'd cursed anyone he could think of for letting him have that fleeting moment of happiness only for it to be taken away. He'd cursed his father, for getting him bitten in the first place. He'd cursed the healers at St. Mungo's, who couldn't save him from his lycanthropy. He'd cursed Fenrir Greyback, for replacing a little boy's innocence and curiosity with pain and shame.

And then, when he'd thought about it more and the bitterness had made its way into his very heart, he'd cursed Dumbledore, for letting him go to Hogwarts and make friends and make play at a normal life. He'd cursed James, and Sirius, and Peter, and Lily, for befriending him, for making him believe that he could be something other than a werewolf, for making him think he could be more than his illness, for making him think he was worthy of love. And above all, he'd cursed himself, for thinking that maybe things'd be all right.

But then, thirteen long and absolutely exhausting years later, Dumbledore had come to him, come to him with a job. It'd been an offer once before, a few years after _that night_, as he'd taken to calling it, but he hadn't felt ready for it, not yet. But when Dumbledore'd come again he'd felt more ready for change, ready to try to make at life again. And he'd returned, despite the painful memories the halls afforded him, to Hogwarts, to the one place he'd ever felt at home. He'd been welcomed with open arms by his old professors, who'd always rooted for him and cared for him, and he, once again, had been foolish enough to let himself believe he could be accepted. He'd made the mistake of hoping.

And now, as he thinks of it all, he thinks that it's hope that does him the most damage. Because while the grey and blur of those thirteen years had hurt, hurt unbearably at times, the ache could in no way compare to the piercing pain of having had hope and happiness and losing it yet again.

Because he'd had hope, when he'd been friends with Lily and James and Sirius and Peter. He'd hoped for a brighter future, hoped for the life he could almost _feel _out in front of him, hoped with such an intensity that he'd been willing to fight, willing to lay his life on the line.

And then, ridiculously, he'd hoped, when Dumbledore'd once again offered him the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. He'd hoped for acceptance again. He'd hoped for passion, the kind he'd found while teaching. He'd hoped for, embarrassed as he is to admit it, respect, and love, and he knows it's pathetic how starved of it all he is.

But both of those times things had fallen through.

Which is why it had been truly foolish to hope, when he'd met Tonks, that anything could come of it. It was foolish to hope, when they'd met in the shop, that she'd want to see him again. It was foolish to hope that he could one day have the privilege of seeing her smile, her adorable, dimpled smile, whenever he pleased. It was foolish to hope that she'd seemed hurt to be at his flat because she cared about him instead of realising that she was acting that way because she was afraid of him. It was foolish to hope that the relief she'd felt when she'd found out she'd been set up was for any reason other than that she just didn't have to deal with a werewolf any longer.

He'd been a fool.

And yet, through it all, he still can't manage to resent her for it. He knows, really, that it was his fault, for expecting too much of her. He respects her immensely, still, for being an Auror, for carrying out her mission, for reading muggle literature and being so cheerful at the pub. And even if she can't be that around him, he knows that she is, despite her prejudice, a good person.

Hell, if having an anti-werewolf prejudice made someone a bad person, the world wouldn't have many good ones left. And he can't hold it against her, he knows, because she's probably been raised with a prejudice, like so much of the wizarding world. So really, this leaves him still just as taken with her despite the fact that any feelings she might have had for him are now gone.

_Brilliant_, he thinks. _Bloody brilliant._

Putting the now cold cup of tea on the small, rickety table next to the sofa, Remus sighs heavily and grabs a worn book from the shelf to his left. Now that he's thought things over, he'll be ready to give a report to Mad-Eye, like he always has after Mad-Eye's sent someone after him.

This time, he'll give the best one he ever has.

~ o0o ~

Nymphadora Tonks has been sitting on the bench in the park, tears streaming down her face, for a good twenty minutes now. It's like a scene from a movie, she thinks to herself, where the actress gets all broody and sits there, silent tears slipping down her cheeks, still managing to look ridiculously pretty and put together. Only that's definitely not what's actually happening.

In her case, she is sitting there, and being broody, only instead of still looking wonderful, she's about 90% sure that she's an ugly crier, and she's also got that weird facial expression going on where she's trying and failing not to cry. And instead of sympathetic passersby offering condolences or something, a group of muggle teenagers came by and called her a freak and a rude little girl stared at her and pointed her out to her mother.

Which, _okay_, she should probably have gone back to her flat or something, but her mind's obviously not very composed right now and there have been _way _too many feelings in the past fifteen or so minutes for her to even hope to sort through _without_ crying and so the buggers in the park can sod off, for all she cares.

She takes a shuddery breath and tries to calm herself down enough to have a thought more coherent than a slew of curse words and general anger at herself and pain and hurt and frustration. She's actually surprisingly successful, and soon she's calmed herself down to the point where she can wipe her eyes and morph to look fairly decent again.

Then, because she knows she can't just go home and eat ice cream and watch her muggle telly (that her mum strongly disapproves of and her dad fully supports), she forces herself to think about what just happened. She will, after all, have to report to Mad-Eye, and _then _maybe she can go home and wallow or go get pissed (she's still trying to decide which she'd rather do).

Sighing, she buries her face in her hands and begins to think. Her feelings are actually not that bad to sort through, since the brunt of the hell happened right at his flat. She's been through the shame and pain of the "interrogation" (_if you can even call it that_, a voice in her head mutters), and despite the fact that she's still a bit ashamed of her behaviour, she feels a bit better about it after Remus' reassurance. She'll be ashamed to admit to Mad-Eye that it's taken her this long to figure out his trick, and she'll always be a bit haunted by Remus' reaction to her appearing at his flat, but the fact that he hadn't resented her until she'd opened her big mouth and ruined things makes forgiving herself much easier.

The relief is wonderful, and the anger at Mad-Eye still pretty fresh, but the overwhelming feelings she's having now are anger at herself, for being dumb enough to cause yet another misunderstanding, and hurt, that she's hurt him.

It's funny how much it hurts to know she's pretty much irrevocably ruined things with Remus, and she hates herself for making him think she's got a problem with his lycanthropy, especially because her real reaction is the exact opposite. As absurd as it is, she's almost proud of herself, for not carrying a prejudice; she would be, if she hadn't ruined things, very excited to be one of the few who got to see past Remus Lupin's walls and care about him. She wants him to know she doesn't care.

And, as she has this thought, she realises that, beyond any other feeling she has right now, she mostly just wishes he knew that she wasn't prejudiced. Even if it's too late for him to be able to forgive her or accept her as a part of his life, if only as a friend (because honestly, she knows that more than friendship is _way _pushing it at this point), she wants him to know she doesn't care. Just so he can know.

And as she thinks this it gives her energy all of a sudden. Because, crazy as it seems, she has _hope _again. Hope that she can somehow tell him this and things can get better. And even if they don't, even if it's too late...it'll be all right, as long as she's given him her acceptance.

Because as she thinks of it, she's not surprised he so quickly assumed she carries a prejudice. She's not surprised that he was so quick to retreat back into himself and into his flat. It makes sense that, after a life of rejection, he'd immediately assume the worst. It makes sense that he would resign himself to her leaving him once she knew, and it makes sense that he'd almost expect it. Even more so, it makes sense that he'd been so surprised, all along, by her kindness.

The thing is, the idea excites her to the point where she wants to tell him _now. _And she even considers ambushing him at his flat and demanding he hear her out, but she's pretty sure there're probably laws against that, and anyway, the full moon's in a few days and she doesn't want to further burden him with her idiocy. He'd said he wasn't angry with her, for being at his flat as an Auror in the first place, but she's pretty sure that the whole making-him-think-she's-prejudiced-against-him-because-he's-a-werewolf thing can't be as easily redeemed.

Besides, she has to give her report to Mad-Eye and calm down in general and, in a rare moment of restraint, she recognises that sleeping on it would probably do her good this time.

_All right_, she thinks to herself as she stands up to go to the office and kill Mad-Eye. _That's the plan. Apologise, get him to be your friend and, if he's not scared away by that, then eventually push for more._

She heads to the staff entrance to the Ministry with a new sense of determination and resolve. Now that her head's cleared and her mind's made up, she can channel all her energy into giving Mad-Eye a true talking to.

* * *

_A/N: Stay tuned for Tonks' confrontation with Mad-Eye! Poor man has no idea what he's in for..._

_Anyway, __so many feels__ for poor Remus! They've both been on a bit of an emotional roller coaster. Also, if you made it through all of that, I'm very impressed with you and I apologise for the lack of much happening. As I said, it's sort of necessary, but that doesn't make it any funner to read..._

_Chapter 5 will be up soon, and they shall meet again. I can't promise it'll be entirely happy, but they will at least see one another. And to anyone who wants to kill me for not having Tonks apologize yet, she will next chapter! I can't promise it'll be all fluffy or anything (because it_ is_ Remus she has to apologize to) but she will definitely apologize. _

_Thank you for reading!_


	5. Chapter 5: Two Equally Horrible Mondays

_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who read/reviewed last chapter! Especially as it was basically a block of text._

_This chapter includes two separate people yelling at Mad-Eye and a fourth meeting. Remus may or may not play hard to get, but that won't last forever!_

_Chapter 5 is dedicated to StrawberryFields, nympie, and Hannah, who all left wonderful reviews last chapter but who I couldn't PM to thank._

* * *

**Chapter 5 - Two Equally Horrible Mondays**

July 18th, 1994

July 25th, 1994

The door to Alastor Moody's office (or rather John Dawlish's office, which he's taken over during his brief return from retirement) flies open with bang.

The grizzled Auror, who'd previously been cleaning his magical eye, looks up in annoyance at the intruder: a red-haired, fiery-eyed Nymphadora Tonks.

"You!" She yells at him, eyes flashing. "How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you send me to an innocent man's house for your own twisted purposes! How dare you send me to an innocent man's house, a man who had _no _warning whatsoever, and convince me to interrogate him like some bigoted Ministry sod!"

Mad-Eye sits back and watches her stride furiously back and forth, clutching at her hair (which is steadily turning a darker shade of crimson), alternating between muttering under her breath and shouting more abuse at him. His features twist in amusement as she continues to berate him, and he merely lets her get it out of her system, folding his scarred hands across his slightly round stomach.

"How _dare _you put him through that! If you wanted to test me on prejudice you could've just _asked_! Or at least warned him first! But _no_! You just _had_ to make me go and ruin his afternoon and make myself look like a prejudiced prat, or worse, an agent provocateur!"

She's growing more and more hysterical as she continues, and the Auror's amusement turns into slight alarm when he sees tears building in her eyes. He doesn't stop her, though; he's learned that it's better to let her rant before trying to calm her down.

Besides, he muses, it's better this way. He's hearing things now that convince him of her readiness to be an Auror; her behaviour, while some might argue immature (or down right suicidal, yelling at him like this), is actually convincing him of her perfection for the job. That'd been why he'd chosen her to begin with: her fire, her optimism, her slightly unrealistic world views that favoured seeing the _good_ in all people. And as he watches her, furious on Remus Lupin's behalf, he knows he made the right decision in coming out of retirement to coach her.

She's just proven to him, in two angry minutes of ranting, that she not only carries no prejudice (even if she trusted him enough to fall for his trick), but also has the compassion to overcome the obsession with power that consumes so many in the office. So he sits, full of pride, and lets her continue.

"That man has been through more than enough in the past few months without interference from _you_! You're supposed to be his _friend_! You fought together! You watched your friends die together! And then you just send _me _after him?You–I can't even believe–you just–!"

She stops speaking suddenly, taking a few heaving breaths, and he takes the opportunity to straighten up and speak. "Are you quite finished, lass?"

She whirls to face him, taking a step forward with her hands on her hips. Her small frame does nothing to diminish the intimidation of her stance, and he thinks suddenly of an irate Molly Weasley. There's not much of a difference.

"No!" She shouts, and suddenly she's ranting again. "Do you know why I joined the Auror programme, Mad-Eye?! Do you know why I wanted to be an Auror?! It had something to do, sure, with my own family background, with all the wrong they've done in this world, with my sister. But more so than that it was out of a desire to do _good_! You may call me idealistic, or naïve, or just plain unrealistic, but that was the idea! I did _not_ join to be the exact kind of person that you _convinced _me to be today!"

She pauses again, but this time he doesn't risk speaking. It seems she's mostly out of steam, however; she paces a few more times with much less fervour and then suddenly she's stopped and her shoulders are slumped and the anger is replaced with a startling vulnerability–a trait he's never seen from her before.

Through all he's put her through, through all the exercises and mock fights and gruelling trainings, he's never once seen her look so delicate. She's always been so determined, so full of fire, but now? Now she's quiet, and so very _small_, and he'd be lying if he didn't admit that it scares the hell out of him.

"I-I was so _awful_, Mad-Eye," she practically whispers.

The room is suddenly dead silent. He can't help but watch as she breathes out heavily, the movement exaggerated by the still quiet of the room, and rubs a hand over her face.

"I was so-I was so determined to prove myself, to prove to you and to everyone else in this bloody office that I'm capable, that I-I missed the clues. And then I bloody–"

She slumps into a nearby chair and buries her face in her hands. "You should've seen his face, Mad-Eye," he hears through her fingers. "You can't imagine what he looked like, when I showed up and started–Merlin, I never imagined I could put a look like that on someone's face."

She looks up at him suddenly, eyes red-rimmed, and he can tell she's wildly searching for reassurance.

"Lass," he starts, voice a little less gruff than usual, "you were meant to fall for this. I would never have assigned you the mission if I thought you _wouldn't _fall for it. I set you up to fail. I've repeated constant vigilance enough that you should always be prepared, but you had no reason to suspect I was lying to you."

He watches as she takes his words in, relaxing just a bit. "Don't feel bad about falling for it. You are one of only two Aurors I've ever trained that have even realised the trick on their own, and the other was before I even used Remus Lupin."

When he says Lupin's name, she visibly flinches, and he sighs slightly.

_Just as I thought, _he muses. It is, as he suspected, clear that it's not the fact that she's fallen for it that bothers her.

He knew, when he'd first took her on as a trainee, that her biggest weakness would also be her biggest strength: that she cares just a little _too_ much. And as an Auror, that can be an incredibly powerful tool. She'll never, he knows, be unnecessarily cruel.

But it also means, at times like this, that she's a bit fragile and she lets little things get to her and bother her. He can tell from her face that what's really haunting her is the fact that she feels she hurt Remus Lupin's feelings. And, since he _did_ send her after him, he feels a bit guilty.

"Look, Tonks, Remus is a good man." Mad-Eye says, carefully watching her for a reaction. "He's one of the best I've known. The world has shown him the worst of itself and he's still completely determined to see the good in people–not too unlike yourself. He is not a man to hold grudges or to be easily offended. When you've been so unnecessarily discriminated against your whole life, it can make you bitter. But in Remus' case, it has also made him strong. If you're worried about his feelings, don't be. He's a big boy. He can handle himself."

He watches her closely for a reaction, but she's buried her face in her hands and he can only tell that she's listening intently.

"I never doubted that he was a good man," she says eventually. "I–I've run into him before. In Flourish and Blotts a few weeks ago."

He raises his eyebrows. This is news to him, but as he thinks of it things start to fall into place. Her startled reaction at seeing the file, which he'd at first attributed to the fact that she finally had a solo case, also could have been because she'd recognised him. And her hopeful suggestion that he could be innocent makes more sense now.

"I was looking for a book on curses, actually," she says with a wry grin, "but I found him instead. A little girl's mother was so cruel to him, and I didn't understand until you showed me his file."

She pauses for a moment, as if considering whether or not to say more, before shrugging and looking back at him.

"And you already couldn't believe he'd committed any sort of crime," he clarifies after it's clear she's not going to go on.

"Yeah," she says with a half smile. "I know you say I shouldn't always think the best of people, but you've also told me to trust my gut. I should've trusted it more."

He heaves himself to his feet, crosses over to her, and awkwardly pats her on the shoulder. "Something to think of in the future, yeah?" He says, and is relieved when she smiles slightly at him and nods. He grimaces back before saying, in his usual gruff voice, "Now run along, I've got things to do."

It's as if he's suddenly turned things back to normal, and for that he's insanely relieved. He's not good at talking to people, at reassuring them. He's not good at feelings.

Which is why he's so relieved that she's looking much more how she usually does, and as she stands to go she surprises him by quickly hugging him around his middle.

Into his heavy jacket she says, "Thanks for making me feel better, Mad-Eye, even if you _did _cause me to feel like shit in the first place."

He rolls his eyes at her as she pulls back, grinning cheekily, and gruffly mutters something about young people and not knowing boundaries, but when she's gone he smiles to himself and shakes his head fondly.

_That Nymphadora Tonks,_ he thinks to himself. _She sure is something._

~ o0o ~

Nymphadora Tonks sighs as she makes her way back to her desk. She feels exhausted from crying, but also immensely better. Getting to shout at Mad-Eye and blow off some steam had done her a world of good, even if most people would be horrified at her yelling at her mentor in such a hysterical manner. Which, _okay_, she probably shouldn't have done it, but she actually isn't that ashamed of her actions, all things considered. Mad-Eye definitely had it coming, and besides, he'd been okay with it. More than okay with it, actually.

She'd been puzzled, at first, by Mad-Eye's pride and amusement at her rant. She'd briefly wondered whether he really had lost it, but she's pretty sure he was actually just pleased that she'd figured out his trick and had the courage to defend Remus Lupin.

In fact, she's feeling pretty good about _that _whole side of it. The trick side. She knows she was meant to fall for it, and the fact that she's one of the only Auror protégés to ever figure it out makes her feel better. She should actually be proud to've figured it out, even if it was a bit late.

After all, Mad-Eye's proud of her, and she's learned from this. And sure, she feels guilty, but it's not because of the trick itself. It's because of Remus Lupin.

Speaking of Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye's comments about him had actually made her feel worse. The fact that, of all the amazing people Mad-Eye's met, Remus Lupin is _one of the best_ makes her feel worse about hurting him. What Mad-Eye'd said, about him not holding grudges and seeing the best in people, had wanted to make her cry.

She knows, more than she knows most things, that she doesn't want to be another reason he's seen the worst of the world.

She knows it's not likely that she'll run into him again, and yet...they've crossed paths this many times. And she hopes that, one day, she'll see him again. And if she does, she knows that there's no way she'll let him get away from her without finding out what she _really _thinks of his lycanthropy.

~ o0o ~

July 25th, exactly one week after Tonks' fateful trip to his flat and only three days after a particularly taxing full moon, Remus Lupin finds himself at the Ministry of Magic for the first time in seven months. Other than his demeaning January trip to the Werewolf Registration Office, it's Remus' first time at the Ministry in years.

He's already had to go through the painful and humiliating process of signing in at the Security Desk, which took over an hour due to his status as a werewolf, and now, as he steps into a lift, he feels his face burn with embarrassment as the other occupants notice his badge, the one that, thanks to the security guard, reads _Remus Lupin–WEREWOLF_. The word werewolf is in bright red, and he can't help but feel that it's fitting, given that he's here to visit Alastor Moody and give him a report on Tonks, who'd visited his flat for the very same reason.

He sighs as he looks at his feet, carefully avoiding the eyes of everyone in the lift. It'd be a lot easier, he thinks to himself grimly, if they weren't all so determined to stare at him.

The second the lift arrives at the Auror Office, he gets out as fast as possible and begins to walk away from the stares of the Ministry workers. It's only then, as he weaves through the cluttered and cubicle-filled hallway on the way to Mad-Eye's office, that the thought that he could run into Tonks crosses his mind.

He practically stops in his tracks.

He's done fairly well avoiding thinking about her recently. It's too painful to consider her, because despite everything he still fancies her quite a lot and he knows that any feelings she may or may not have had for him have long since been replaced by disgust and fear. On the not-so-rare occasion that he does think of her, his thoughts are usually maudlin and full of what-could-have-beens, and he knows these thoughts are neither healthy nor productive.

So he's been avoiding thinking of her for the most part. But as he thinks about the fact that she's probably in one of the offices around him, and as he thinks about what would happen if he saw her, he's tempted to turn and leave the Ministry all together. It's a cowardly thought, sure, but no less true.

It's not that he resents her.

He doesn't.

It's just that he's not sure he'd be able to take seeing her, seeing her dimpled smile or bright eyes or vibrant hair. He fears that the very sight of her, of the woman whose first name he doesn't even know, would be too painful. Too full of hope.

Because no matter how many times he tells himself any chance he had with her is gone, he can't help but fantasise about what might happen if he ran into her and she actually _didn't _care about his lycanthropy. But he knows that this is just wishful thinking; he's letting himself hope again even though it makes even less sense now than it did before.

He shakes himself out of these thoughts. Rational or irrational, hope will get him nowhere. He has to focus on giving the report to Mad-Eye, and then he can go home and lose himself in a book.

He sighs as he forces himself to, not for the first time, recall the events of that day. As always, the image of her at his door, eyes hard and body tensed, surfaces in his mind. This time, however, as he approaches Mad-Eye's office, and he sees once again in his mind the pain and vulnerability in her eyes, he finds himself inexplicably angry at the old Auror.

His own pain at her visit is easily reconciled. He's not angry for that; not an Tonks, not at Mad-Eye. But _her_ pain, on the other hand...her pain makes him furious. And as he crosses the final few steps to Mad-Eye's door, and really lets himself think about how much pain and insecurity Mad-Eye caused her just for a bloody test, he finds his blood boiling. And, for once in his life, he doesn't try to restrain his anger.

~ o0o ~

Alastor Moody is sitting at his desk, leg up and resting, when the door to his temporary office once again flies open with a bang.

Expecting to see Nymphadora Tonks raging in to rant at him for the cursed quill he left on her desk during lunch, the Auror looks up, ready for an amusing talking to from his protégé, and instead finds himself face-to-face with a taller but no less irate Remus Lupin.

He's momentarily startled, and even briefly wonders whether this isn't some retaliation prank on Tonks' part, but when the man shuts the door behind him with another bang and begins to rant, he realises that it is, in fact, Remus Lupin that has stormed into his office. There's no way Tonks could get this level of authenticity after only meeting him briefly.

"How _dare_ you! How _dare _you put a trusting protégé through such a shameless trick! How dare you try to corrupt good intentions to prove a point! Did you not consider how much it would shake her? Did you not consider the fact that, by going through with your plan, you'd only prove that she _trusts _you?!"

The Auror watches, transfixed, as Remus Lupin paces back in forth in front of his desk, just as Tonks had done the week before, clutching at his hair in a frighteningly similar manner. If it wasn't so obvious that Remus Lupin is agitated, he'd probably find the similarities humorous. As it is, he's slightly horrified and finds himself unable to speak.

"If you wanted to test her for a prejudice you could've just _asked _her about it! This isn't like in the past, when you were proving a prejudice you _knew _existed! This isn't like that! Tonks is a _good _person! She was only trying to do her job, and you manipulated her into doubting herself!"

He pauses in his rant, looking slightly horrified at his own behaviour, and takes a few calming breaths. When he hasn't said anything in a few seconds, Mad-Eye carefully considers him before asking, "Are you quite finished?"

To his utter surprise, Remus Lupin straightens up and approaches him, eyes still glinting with anger. "Not quite!" He says, and Mad-Eye finds himself straightening up in his chair. "I understand that your methods are different from others'. And I have faith in them. But I did _not_ agree to play a part in your manipulation! It was fine in the past, but this time? You didn't see her face, Mad-Eye!"

He sighs heavily and collapses into the same chair Tonks had collapsed into the week before, resting his elbows on his knees and bowing his head in such a _Remus Lupin _fashion that it makes the Auror smile, despite his guilt.

Remus' shoulders slump and he seems done, and in the silence that follows Mad-Eye takes the chance to look over his old friend.

Remus Lupin looks tired. Mad-Eye knows the full moon was this past Friday and, as it's only Monday, he's aware that the moon is certainly a factor. But even with the moon he seems more defeated than normal and, as he scrubs a hand over his barely-visible stubble and runs a hand through his hair, Mad-Eye realises that he looks the oldest he's ever seen him.

In the moments of silence that follow, as Mad-Eye goes over what Remus has said, he begins to suspect, just as he had with Tonks, that they're only truly angry on the other's behalf.

It amuses him, really, that they'd both come in to rant at him, not out of anger for the pain he'd put them through but for the pain he'd put the other through. The fact that they, unknowingly, defended each other like this is...fascinating. He knows it's not something he should pry into, though.

"Remus," he starts, careful to use the man's first name, "I apologise for offending you. It was never my intention. I threw the fake mission at Nymphadora not because I thought she had a prejudice, but because I knew she could handle it. She's the best I've trained since James."

He watches Remus carefully, noting the way he slumps a bit further at the mention of his childhood friend and the way he perks up a bit at the mention of Tonks' first name.

"Nymphadora?" Remus asks hoarsely.

"The lass hates her first name," Mad-Eye explains with a fond grimace. "She threatens to hex her colleagues when they refer to her that way. She's gone by Tonks since she was a girl."

"Oh."

It's silent again.

"What happened?" Mad-Eye eventually asks. He'd debriefed a bit with Tonks, but she hadn't given him the details of their conversation.

He watches as Remus sighs, carefully studying his hands as he speaks. "She conducted everything as she's been taught, I'm sure. She was thrown when I offered her in, as if she couldn't understand the gesture. She reminded me that I didn't need to ask her in, and asked if I knew my rights. By then it was obvious that she was...uncomfortable. She was so upset that I figured it'd be easier for both of us if someone else conducted the investigation. She looked hurt when I suggested it, but told me you'd be in contact. That's when I figured it out."

Mad-Eye nods. It's as he suspected.

"She feels too much, you know," he says gruffly. "That's why I took her in, but that's also my greatest doubt about her. This job...if she's not careful, it'll swallow her up. She _feels _things in every case; she has the greatest potential to empathise I've ever encountered. I only fear for how much of other people's pain she feels herself."

He sighs, realising he's rambled on a bit too much but figuring he might as well continue, and glances over at Remus, who's listening very intently with a face as blank as ever. "I've tried to expose her to the worst kinds of cases as much as possible...I think a part of me hoped she'd give up. But a more determined girl, you'll never meet. She's learned to use her spunk, her humour, her individuality as a shield...I only hope it'll be enough."

Remus nods, adding, "I think she'll be brilliant. I was so...angry with you, for hurting her that way. She's very endearing. But I figured I'd come see you anyway, just in case you doubted her. I couldn't bear it if you somehow used this against her."

"On the contrary," Mad-Eye assures him, "this has only further convinced me of her readiness to be in the field. Visiting you was her final _real_ test...the others will just be to keep her on her toes. She's ready."

~ o0o ~

Remus Lupin sighs as he walks out of Alastor Moody's office. His meeting had gone well, even though it was unnecessary. He'd only gone to ensure Tonks hadn't got in any sort of trouble for what'd happened.

As it turns out, he needn't have worried, because Mad-Eye already thinks very well of Tonks. And after what he'd said...Remus sighs. It's as if, no matter what happens, he's unable to find a reason to get over her.

_Bloody brilliant, _he thinks to himself miserably. _The only thing that could make this worse is–_

"Remus?"

~ o0o ~

Nymphadora Tonks walks through the Auror office, having just spent a relatively satisfying lunch hour distracting herself from thinking about Remus Lupin, and nearly drops the folder she's carrying when she catches sight of a very familiar looking grey wool cardigan.

"Remus?" She asks in disbelief, doing the whole double-take-eyes-bugging-out thing.

The man spins around, revealing a very tired looking Remus Lupin.

Tonks is surprised and elated to see him, thinking of all the apologies she's rehearsed when she should be doing paperwork, but she feels her stomach sink a bit when she realises how exhausted he must still be after the full moon three days before. (And she's definitely not afraid to admit she spent that night glaring at the moon with a carton of ice cream, thinking about how unfair the world is and how completely _rational _her new found hate for the full moon is.)

He looks surprised to see her and even, she winces internally, a bit upset. He wrings his hands a bit, looking nervous, and darts a glance around them, as if to ensure that nobody is watching judgmentally. His eyes dart back to her and then to the badge on his chest, the one that reads _Remus Lupin–WEREWOLF_, and then back to his feet. He shuffles a bit, uncomfortable, shoulders hunched. He doesn't say anything.

"Remus," she repeats, slowly letting his presence sink in, before saying, "what're you doing here?"

Her voice sounds a bit overly casual to her, but she steps a bit closer to him, noticing the way his posture hunches even further, and looks up into his face, forcing him to meet her eyes.

His wall is half up, and all she can make out from his face is that he's flustered. He glances away from her again, refusing to meet her eyes for more than two seconds at a time, and says, quietly, "I was just–I was–I had a meeting with Mad-Eye."

He glances back at her briefly before studying his hands, which he's still wringing nervously. Her brow furrows and her stomach drops a bit.

"Oh," she says softly, looking down at her feet. "About-about what happened last week?"

Her voice sounds timid to her, and she thinks, briefly, about how pathetic they must look, both refusing to meet the other's eyes. The thought is enough to force her to take a deep breath and square her shoulders and prepare to recite her explanation about her reaction to his lycanthropy.

Instead, he speaks first. "Yes. Listen, Tonks, I've got to go–"

But she remembers the promise she made to herself, to talk to him about this, so she interrupts him, suddenly desperate to tell him she doesn't care. "No, Remus, just wait a moment! I wanted to say that–I mean, I really screwed up the other day, and–"

To her horror, however, he cuts her off again with a voice that is determinedly resigned and free of any emotion. "Tonks, it's fine. Really. I've just got to go–"

"No, Remus, you don't understand!" She interrupts, frustrated. "I'm trying to apologise–"

"You have nothing to apologise for," he says matter-of-factly.

"No, just-just stop! I do, Remus, I sounded like a bigoted idiot the other day, and you should know–"

"Tonks, I really have to go," he insists.

She huffs at him, annoyed that he's so desperately unwilling to listen to her. She briefly wonders why, but knows she has no time to consider it. "But I'm trying to tell you I don't care about you being a were–"

But it's as if she's crossed some invisible line, because he's suddenly looking her straight in the eyes with a new found determination and resolve. When he speaks, his voice is no longer timid or gentle; it's almost harsh, and very final.

"Nymphadora," he starts, almost dangerously, and she thinks, ridiculously, _thanks for that one, Mad-Eye, _"Just stop. It's fine. Your reaction was completely understandable and I'm sorry to have made you uncomfortable."

The change in demeanour stuns her enough to momentarily keep her from interrupting him, but as he turns to go she's jarred back into action. "But you didn't make me uncomfortable–"

She starts, a bit loudly and a bit hysterically, but he cuts her off once more. "You don't have to say that to make me feel better."

He's half turned away from her, and she can't make out all his face, but she can tell his eyes are shut and he seems to be steeling himself against _something_.

She can't for the life of her figure out what.

"I'm not just trying to make you feel better–"

"Yes, you are, and it's _fine, _okay?" He tells her, eyes still shut. "I'm used to it by now, believe me. I don't want your pity. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got somewhere to be."

She's so shocked by the venom in his voice that it isn't until he's a few paces away from her that she begins to call after him.

"But I don't pity you!" She protests, chasing after him like in some sodding romance novel.

He doesn't respond and instead continues to walk away from her.

"Remus!" She calls to his retreating back. "_Remus_!"

He doesn't turn.

Instead, she's left to watch him, helplessly, as he weaves in and out of the other Aurors, gets into a lift, and disappears from her view.

She stands, as if under a spell, staring at where he'd been standing, until someone bumps into her and she's jarred form her stupor. She feels tears pricking at her eyes, and she's so frustrated that she could scream.

In fact, she heads back to her cubicle, preforms a silencing charm, and does just that.

After collapsing into her chair and burying her face in her hands, she gives into the urge to cry a bit. She knows, now that she's had time to think of what she's said, and what he's said, that he's trying to protect himself. He has to be. He's got so used to everyone judging him before knowing him that he's convinced that's all he'll ever experience. It's as if he's _unable _to believe she's genuine.

It's as if he's past letting himself hope.

This thought makes her want to cry hysterically, but she knows that's a bad idea and that she should really just try to get a hold of herself. So instead of giving in to the urge to let her emotions take over, she sighs, straightens the papers on her desk, and grabs a quill to work on her report.

By the time she realises it's not the one she left there, it's too late.

_Oh not again, _she thinks bitterly as she feels a curse beginning to take effect.

Her last thought before she passes out is _dammit, Mad-Eye_!

* * *

_A/N: Don't kill me! I promise this is the last super angsty chapter for a while! In all honesty, the next chapter will be happier. _

_I know this is probably not what you had in mind when you heard there'd be a meeting, but you've got to understand where Remus is right now and how hard it is for him to lower his walls. He'll come around fairly quickly, but he likes to protect himself. _

_Anyway, let me know what you thought! Was Remus' anger believable? I know it might seem out of character, but I think he's capable of anger on other people's behalf, just not on his own. What about Tonks? How'd she come across? I'd love to know!_

_Thanks so much for reading! Chapter 6 will be up soon :)_


	6. Chapter 6: A Turning Point

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read/reviewed last chapter despite its depressing content._

_Finally a happy chapter! I'm so excited for this, you have no idea! I really hope you enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it._

_A note on believability: it may or may not require some suspension of disbelief for you to believe Remus and Tonks could run into each other this many times in such a short period of time. If you think about it, though, the only chance meetings are the first ones and then this one; the two surrounding Moody were orchestrated. Anyway, I figure the wizarding community is very small, and once you're looking for someone it's not that rare to see them. Especially if you're both bent on drowning your sorrows._

_Chapter 6 is dedicated to Sirius Rulz, Hi (yes, Mad-Eye does spend the majority of the 1994-1995 school year in Barty Crouch Jr.'s trunk; however, it is still July in this story and school has not started yet), Guest, StrawberryFields, Nympie, and Hannah, who all left lovely reviews on the last chapter. Thanks so much, you guys!_

* * *

**Chapter 6 - A Turning Point**

July 25th, 1994  
July 29th, 1994

Alastor Moody is actually the spawn of satan, sent to earth to ruin her.

Nymphadora Tonks, as she sits on the hospital bed, battling the urge to curse, cry, and kill her mentor, is convinced of it. He might genuinely be the worst thing that's happened to her since the embarrassing pink polka dotted underwear debacle of 1985. And she is _so _not going to get into that right now.

She was already having a shit enough day before he'd gone and placed that bloody cursed quill on her desk, and this marks the second time she's fallen for the cursed object trick. Both times, she thinks with a grimace, have been a direct result of Remus-Lupin-induced distraction.

Which, _okay_, she thinks, she should probably get a hold on that, but _still_. Mad-Eye is as good as dead in her books. And he hasn't even visited her yet, the great sod.

She's been sitting, arms crossed and eyes fixed in a permanent glare, in the ward for Artefact Accidents for the past hour. And for the half hour before that, she'd been unconscious due to the particularly potent stunning charm that Mad-Eye'd cursed the quill with. She's been told that it took the Healers almost twenty minutes of spell work to reverse the damage.

Which she might be impressed by, if it weren't for the generally awful quality of her day.

It'd all begun, she supposes, when she forgot to wash her favourite jeans, which she'd been looking forward to wearing. Things'd just continued to go downhill after that; she'd left her badge at her flat and ended being up late since she'd gone back to get it, and then Proudfoot, the great (but sometimes loveable) idiot, had spilled his _very_ hotcoffee on her second outfit. That one'd been fixed by a hasty spell and repeated apologies that grew more and more pathetic as time went on, but still. The principle held. _Then_ she'd had a morning of boring paperwork and condescending comments from Dawlish, the bloody prat, who'd never forgiven her for inadvertently causing him to temporarily lose his office to Mad-Eye while he came out of retirement to coach her. And finally, right before she'd touched that bloody quill, there'd been the little run in with Remus Lupin.

She sighs.

She's so frustrated that she'd failed to get him to hear her out. The more she replays the situation in her head, the more she feels like she didn't try hard enough to get him to listen. That, coupled with the fact that it might be _ages_ before she runs into him again, is enough to put her in a foul mood.

Though, she thinks with trademark optimism, the wizarding community is pretty small compared to the greater London community, and besides, now that she knows him, she'll be on alert to see him. After all, it's quite possible that she's run into him in the past but didn't recognise him because she'd never met him before. He does, she thinks to herself with a grimace, do a good job of trying to fade into the background.

She sighs again, drumming her fingers on the armrest of her bed in boredom. She's completely fine now and is just waiting for the Healers to clear her to leave. She'd explained what'd happened the second she'd been revived, even if it was through a slew of curses, and she's been assured that she'll be fine. Mad-Eye's curses may be annoying, but they're rarely intended to do any real harm.

When a Healer finally bustles over to her, looking rather harried, she tries to harness her Hufflepuff patience as much as possible as she waits to be given the all clear. When she finally is she practically sprints out of the ward before reaching the Reception area and slowing to a halt.

Realising it's a Monday and Jane will be working in the Spell Damage ward, she decides to skive off work a bit longer and pay her friend a visit. She feels rather entitled to it, after being cursed and all.

A good hour and some lovely girl talk later, Tonks leaves St. Mungo's satisfied with her plans to have drinks with Jane, Will, and possibly Mike at The Three Broomsticks on Friday. They're not sure if Mike will be home from visiting Charlie _again_ by the time they go out, but either way she's excited. It's been a while since she's had the time or energy to hang out with her friends.

While she is, ridiculously, maybe hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive Remus Lupin there, she tries to push the thought out of her mind. She's going out for _her_, not for him. Hopefully, she'll get pissed enough to be distracted from him.

She could use a little distraction right about now.

~ o0o ~

Friday finds Remus Lupin heading, once more, to the pub. He knows he should really look for ways other than alcohol to drown his sorrows, but for now he's exhausted, frustrated, and even more maudlin than usual, all owing to his fruitless job search and annoyance at himself over his last interaction with Nymphadora Tonks.

He's become more and more angry with himself each day over how he'd reacted to Tonks' attempt at an apology. It was a classic Remus Lupin move, he knows, refusing to believe what he wants could happen. And yet, when it'd appeared she might be about to say the one thing he really wanted her to, he'd panicked.

He knows, rationally, that he should've let her explain. But he'd been so afraid to let himself hope that he hadn't wanted to hear it. It's as if he can't accept that she _could _be as amazing as he wants to think she is. Which makes no sense, he knows, and yet he couldn't let her say it. He's too scared that she pities him.

And worse than disgust, than fear, than hate, is pity. Pity makes him weak. Pity makes him a _good cause_, something someone can feel sorry for. Pity makes him feel even less human than the hate, disgust, or fear.

He was too scared to hear her out. It's as simple as that. He was too scared she'd pity him, or else lie to him, or hurt him further. He'd protected himself, at the expense of finding out the truth.

~ o0o ~

Nymphadora Tonks sits with her friends in a corner of the packed pub, trying desperately to appear engaged in their conversation. It's not that she's not interested in them, or their lives, or anything like that, it's just...her mind's been wandering lately.

She's been kind of...down the past few days. It's weird, really, the way her mood randomly falls sometimes. Her mum always pesters her to see a mediwitch about it, but she really doesn't think it's depression. She's been depressed before, after _that day, _and she's definitely not that low right now. She just gets sort of down sometimes, and doing paperwork is suddenly a monumental struggle of trying to sum up the motivation to do more than sit and doodle. Which, _okay_, maybe this isn't something to brush off, but...she's got a feeling it's more common than people admit. Besides, compared to how she was after _that day_, this is nothing.

Anyway, she's sort of curled into herself, and she's trying not to, but she's not very successful. Instead, she finds her mind wandering, and she's people watching instead of listening.

There's always an interesting crowd at The Three Broomsticks, though people watching _does _tend to be much better at the Hog's Head. Either way, the place is packed and there're plenty of people to make up stories for as they weave their way in and out of the cramped tables and bar stools. She's just coming up with a past for a rather heavy-set witch with more piercings than she can possibly count when her attention is diverted to a scene unfolding near the bar.

The place is loud with alcohol-induced euphoria and at first all she can make out is raised voices, but eventually enough people are distracted from their own conversations that it falls quiet and the voices can be made out.

To Tonks' astonishment and horror, one of the voices she can now hear is hoarse, soft, and unmistakably Remus Lupin.

~ o0o ~

It's times like these that make Remus Lupin wonder why he even tries.

The evening had started out smoothly enough, he supposes; he'd walked into the Three Broomsticks, which to his dismay had been (and is still) bustling, and he'd kept his head down as he'd headed to the bar. He'd briefly considered going to the Hog's Head instead, but he'd rejected the idea because he knows Dumbledore is concerned about him and has undoubtedly asked Aberforth to keep an eye out. He knows Dumbledore's intentions are good, but he doesn't want to be looked after. He just wants a drink.

He'd quietly found an unoccupied barstool with the intention of having a firewhiskey then leaving, and at first things'd been fine. The witches on the stools next to his had all been preoccupied with other things and he'd gone unnoticed. Rosmerta'd brought him a firewhiskey and, to her credit, had done a good job of keeping the pity off her face, which he suspects is because she was so fond of James and Sirius when they'd visited during their Hogwarts days. Either way, he's grateful; her quiet service had helped him avoid drawing attention to himself.

It wasn't until the rather wealthy looking woman at the table to his right had caught sight of him that things had gone south.

He'd noticed her on his way in–she'd seemed out of place in the pub. Her black robes were too neat, her face too pinched, her posture too prim. He hadn't given her much of a thought.

It seems, however, that she _had_ given him one.

Her nasally voice had initially been in the background, but the words "filthy" and "from the _Prophet_" had caught up to him and he'd stiffened. He hadn't dared turn around, but he'd listened carefully enough to hear the hushed tones of Rosmerta trying to placate the woman, saying she'd seat her somewhere else. The woman had loudly complained that it was _he_ who should be reseated before going on to say that she didn't understand how he could bear to show his face in public.

It hadn't been anything too new to Remus. Her words stung, like they always did, but it was the look on Rosmerta's face when he'd turned around that'd really caught him.

She hadn't looked angry, but resigned and harried. And he'd felt, overwhelmingly, _guilty,_ for causing her the trouble. So he'd said, quietly, "It's all right, Rosmerta, that won't be necessary. I was just on my way out."

Her face had betrayed the conflict she'd felt at his words, and he was momentarily grateful to her for at least feeling bad about the whole thing. The gratitude, however, was soon replaced by embarrassment when the other woman had said, loudly, to a short and greasy looking man who'd just joined her at her table, "It's an outrage, Reggie! That _werewolf_ thinks he can just waltz in here to a perfectly respectable establishment–"

"Now, now, Clarissa," the man had interrupted, shooting a nervous glance at Remus, "there's no need to make a fuss–"

The woman gave an annoyed sound, however, and abruptly stood, pointing a gnarled finger at Remus. "You!" She'd all but screeched, "You have no right to come in here! You-you _animal_!"

There had been a moment of stunned silence from the woman's companion Reggie, Rosmerta, and Remus, before suddenly Rosmerta's hands were on her hips. "Now, ma'am, I understand if you want to be reseated, but there's no cause for language like that in my pub!"

Remus had been so stunned that someone was standing up for him that, for a second, he'd felt almost...touched. But then he'd glanced around to find the area around them falling silent as more and more patrons fixed him with incredulous stares and the good feeling had vanished.

Now, as he stands, fixed with Clarissa's glare, Reggie's apologetic glance, and the eyes of dozens of others in the Three Broomsticks–some stunned, some fearful, some angry–he finds himself thinking he shouldn't have even bothered thinking he could have a peaceful night at the pub.

He takes a deep breath and tries to clear his throat–and his head. His lungs feel constricted, whether from pain or shame he's not sure, and it takes him a moment to gather the energy to speak.

"It's all right, really," he says, mostly to his shoes. "I'll go. Thank you for the drink, Rosmerta."

And before he can become even more suffocated by shame, he places a few coins on the bar, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and makes for the door, face burning with embarrassment.

~ o0o ~

Nymphadora Tonks, who has been watching the whole exchange in horror, is finally jarred out of her stupor by the only sound in the pub after Remus Lupin's departure: the soft thud of the door. The entire place has gone quiet, everyone watching, and after the door swings shut there're a few more moments of absolute silence before slowly, so slowly, people begin to speak again.

Tonks is still sitting in stunned silence when Jane waves a hand in front of her face and suddenly, instead of being shut down, she's in overdrive. She leaps out of her chair, knocking it over in the process, and then finds herself trying to speak.

Unfortunately, her mouth is about five seconds behind her brain, and what comes out is something like, "I have to go–there's this, um–I've got a thing to do...right now?"

She's met with a skeptical look from Jane (which she knows means she's going to be interrogated about this later) and a completely befuddled look from Will.

Not bothering to give more of an explanation, for at this point it's entirely possible that Remus has already disapparated, she throws a few coins on the table, grabs her coat, and dashes to the door.

Or tries to, at least.

Instead, she trips over someone's chair leg and barely saves her balance, before sort of hopping and dodging her way to the door.

Either way, she's out pretty quickly, and soon she's glancing around desperately for a sign of Remus.

It doesn't take her long to spot him; after all, how many people walk with shoulders _that_ resigned on the weekend?

She doesn't hesitate.

"Remus!" She calls, slightly out of breath. "Remus, wait!"

As he stiffens and turns agonisingly slowly to face her, she thinks suddenly of the last time she saw him, in circumstances frighteningly similar to this. Last time, she thinks with a heavy swallow, didn't go so well. And he's got even more working against him this time.

When she gets close enough to make out his face, she wishes she couldn't. He looks so _old,_ and very grey. And though he meets her eyes for the briefest of seconds, his gaze is on the ground a moment later. The red in his cheeks, which she knows is from the shame that that _damn _woman caused him, has not faded; in fact, as she approaches, it gets worse.

She briefly considers, for the first time, whether it was a bad move to follow him. She wonders, as she sees the miserable expression on his face, whether it wouldn't have been better to pretend she hadn't seen anything. After all, she knows this shame is not something he'd want to share with her–_or,_ she thinks to herself, _with anyone_.

It's too late now, though; she's acted on instinct. Instinct has carried her here. There was no logic involved. She'd witnessed and reacted. (And, as she thinks of it, she's almost surprised that her first instinct was to follow him and not to punch the woman in the face. At this point, that seems like a very good idea.)

She's almost to him now, and she knows pretending she didn't see what happened isn't an option. She also knows that the last thing he wants to do is talk about it. So she decides, perhaps foolishly, not to mention it. Not directly, at least. The last thing she wants to do is draw any more attention to what's happened than her presence already has.

So instead she says, "Hey, I know this great muggle pub..." because she thinks, in her split second decision to 'play it cool', that maybe at a place like that, nobody would recognise him. It's not well thought out at all, but it's the best she's got.

When she ducks her head a bit in an effort to see his face, and she's met with the hard line of his mouth and controlled features. The wall.

He doesn't glance at her as he says, bitterly, "I don't want your pity."

The words are harsh, and they hit her as if she's been slapped.

But instead of driving her away, as she's pretty sure he hoped they would, the words make her angry.

"I don't pity you," she says at first, her voice a bit confused. Then, as his words really sink in, along with what they imply, and what they make her realise, she says again, louder, "I don't pity you, Remus."

He looks conflicted–one part relieved, one part confused. She lets the fact that _this _is why he wouldn't let her apologise to him the other day sink in. He thought she pitied him. She could almost laugh at the idea.

"Tonks–" he starts, but she's learned from last time and she's determined to make him hear her out, so she cuts him off.

"No, Remus, listen!" She says quickly, desperately, abandoning all of her rehearsed explanations and apologies as she hurries to get the words out. "There's-there's this thing where I get really upset because my boss is a bloody idiot sometimes and I talk too fast and I'm flustered and I give you the wrong idea about what I think about you and–"

She pauses, taking a deep breath. She's sure none of what she's just said makes sense.

"What I'm really trying to say is that when I was upset, before, at your flat, I wasn't saying what you thought I was. I was just–I said I shouldn't have been there with how I felt. And I meant that. But it was because I _knew _you, from that day in Flourish and Blotts. I'd already made my mind up that you were a good guy, so I never should have agreed to take a mission concerning you."

She laughs a bit, at herself, at the whole situation, and steals a cautious glance at his face. He looks _careful, _like he always does, only there's a bit of hope, she thinks, too.

She shakes her head before saying, earnestly, "I'd already figured out you'd done nothing wrong before I visited you. I decided that day in the shop that you were a good bloke, and my mind wasn't changed when I found out about your lycanthropy. If anything, I have _more _respect for you, for being so good and kind despite the fact that society is ignorant and people like that-that _bitch _inside can force you to leave and humiliate you without anyone doing anything!"

Her voice is wavering a bit now, and she cringes internally when what she's just said registers. _So much for not bringing what happened up_, she thinks to herself sarcastically, but although Remus has stiffened a bit, he doesn't look too upset, so she decides to plough on, because really, it seems like such a _rational _thing to do.

"Anyway, that day, I was going to go on to say, 'I mean, you're a werewolf, so what?' but you didn't let me finish and–well, I get it, I do, but really, just–I don't pity you, okay? And I don't judge you for something beyond your control, and I just don't bloody care!" She says, and says loudly, too, and with conviction, for she's so glad to finally be saying it that she's not holding anything back. She's half terrified that she's gone too far, but the corner of his mouth turns up just the slightest bit, and she would definitely high-five herself for making him smile if she wasn't so determined to keep talking while she can.

"And right now, Remus, I want to go get a drink with you, because I think we'd be great friends. And I think, I'm sorry to say it, that you could probably _use _a friend, and that you could probably have a few if you didn't try so damn hard to push people away." She takes a deep breath and finishes, with much less confidence, "So please, Remus, for the love of Merlin, will you just agree to let me buy you a drink?"

The moments of stunned silence that follow are quite possibly the most terrifying of her life.

Remus' face is controlled; he's giving her nothing as he stares at her. She forces herself to continue meeting his eyes, forces herself to keep her expression determined, and _true, _so that maybe he can find whatever it is he's looking so hard for in her eyes. It feels like _eons_ pass before finally, his face changes.

He smiles.

He bloody _smiles. _

And not his usual half-smile, the one that's a bit too carefully constructed, either, but a real smile, the most genuine she's seen since the shop when he was talking to the little girl. His eyes are suddenly alive, and he ducks his head a bit, as if he's embarrassed to be smiling like this.

It's all she can do not to throw herself into his arms when she sees him smiling like that (because at this point, adorable is an understatement), and she mirrors his smile a bit cautiously, since he hasn't spoken yet.

"Nymphadora," he starts, voice so tentative that she can't yet set him straight about her name, "I'd love to get a drink with you."

He sounds almost questioning, as if he's not sure he's given the appropriate response, and she grins more fully at him, half-disbelieving and half-euphoric. _Okay, _she thinks. _Okay, I can work with this. __  
_

"Great," she says eventually, not quite able to keep the relief from her voice. She can't stop smiling as she takes his arm and leads him to a disapparition point before he can change his mind. "I probably wouldn't have let you answer no even if you wanted to."

He laughs, albeit a quiet laugh, and responds, in a tone she's never heard him use before, "I suspected not. In fact, I was rather worried for my safety back there."

She's surprised at how quickly his demeanour has changed, at how easily he's talking to her now. It's as if a switch has gone off and he's decided to let her in. She could faint from relief, but she worries that drawing any attention to his change in behaviour will bring it all crashing down, so she keeps talking as normally as she can.

"Hey!" She protests, playfully smacking him on the arm. "Just what are you implying?"

"Oh, nothing," he responds far too innocently. "Just that maybe some of the things Mad-Eye warned me about were indeed true."

"Like what? What did he tell you?" She demands. Her tone is much like it used to be, when her mum'd come home from a meeting with Dumbledore and she'd beg to hear all of the things he'd said about her.

He grins cheekily down at her, both of them now standing in the alleyway waiting to disapparate, "Now, now, Nymphadora, one mustn't betray confidences–"

She groans, barely resisting the urge to stomp her foot. "Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus. I can't believe Mad-Eye told you my first name! The bloody git _knows _I hate it. It's Tonks. Only Tonks!"

His eyes laugh at her. "But Nymphadora's a beautiful name."

She scowls. "Don't patronise me. It's awful and I know it!"

He frowns. "I was being serious."

"Sure you were," she mutters, feeling almost guilty by how earnest he sounds.

"I really was!" He tells her. There's a moment of silence before, perhaps sensing her discomfort, he asks, "Does your hair always turn red when you're angry, by the way?"

She huffs at him, refusing to meet his eyes. "It might."

He looks thoughtful. "Only it was black before, when I asked if you pitied me."

The professorish nature of it all makes her grin as she tells him, wryly, "It does tend to do that when I'm very angry, yes."

"Oh," he says quietly, and then, when she doesn't respond, he murmurs, "I'm sorry."

She almost rolls her eyes at him. It's so in-character that she's almost surprised he hasn't apologised sooner. "Don't be _sorry_, Remus–"

"But I am," he interrupts, suddenly a bit more agitated. "I know I was awful to you before, and that day in the Auror office–"

"I pushed you too far," she corrects, shaking her head at herself. "Especially after what I'd done. It's not your fault–"

"But it is," he counters. "I shouldn't have been so quick to assume the worst."

She grins at him. "I'll give you that one. Do I really strike you as the type of person who'd hold a grudge against a fellow shapeshifter?"

She means it to lighten to mood, but instead he gazes down at her, looking almost perplexed. "I don't know what to make of you. You keep surprising me."

The words are soft, and sweet in a strange way, and his gaze and voice are so _honest_ that she's practically melting. Which, she thinks, is a completely _dumb _thought, but it's the best way to describe the funny thing her insides seem to be doing.

But as she takes in his reaction to his own words, which is something like a mixture of surprise that he's said them and embarrassment, if his trademarked ducked head is any indication, it hits her once more just how _careful _she'll have to be with him. They've been through hell and high water just for him to agree to get a drink _as friends_, and she now knows more than ever that if she wants him in her life, which she's damn sure she does, she's going to have to be careful. She'll have to go slow.

She can't go for Remus the way she goes for everything else; she can't approach him head on the way she does life. She's going to have to get him used to letting someone in, to trusting someone. She's going to have to edge her way into his life, step by step. She's going to have to be patient.

Her mum once told her that she was the most _im_patient Hufflepuff she'd ever met. Tonks had responded, petulantly, that she didn't have anything worth being patient for. But as she grins at Remus, asks him if he's ready, and disaparates them both to a pub in London, she thinks to herself that she may have just found something.

* * *

_A/N: Hooray! Go friendship! To anyone who thought that they were going to get together for real, there's definitely too much hurt/confusion/insecurity (*cough* Remus *cough*) for that to happen right away. It will happen of course, just not quite yet. Tonks' got to get Remus used to just having friends before she can push for more. But this is Tonks, so of course she'll push for more at some point. :)_

_Anyway, I'd love to know what you thought! Did Remus and Tonks both seem in character to you? I always love to hear from you!_

_Thanks so much for reading! We'll catch up with Remus and Tonks' growing friendship soon in Chapter 7 :)_


	7. Chapter 7: The First Lunch

_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who read/reviewed last chapter!_

_This is sort of a transition chapter, from awkward acquaintances to friends. A few days pass, but it should be pretty clear. The chapter starts off the morning after last chapter._

_Chapter 7 is dedicated to Guest, Nympie, Ronksxx, StrawberryFields, anonymous, and Hannah, who all left lovely reviews on the last chapter but who I couldn't PM to thank._

* * *

**Chapter 7 - The First Lunch**

July 30th, 1994  
August 3rd, 1994

Nymphadora Tonks groans as she rolls over in bed and curls into a ball, squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as possible. She didn't even drink that much last night, but her general anxiety of late and recent lack of sleep, coupled with the two or so drinks that she _did_ have, are really making her consider spending the day sleeping. Which would be completely counterproductive and lazy and maybe even slightly disgraceful, but she definitely can't sum up the motivation to care right about now.

Unfortunately for her and her plan to remain horizontal, the excruciatingly annoying tapping sound that had lulled her from her absolutely _blissful _state of unconsciousness in the first place begins to grow louder.

She groans again.

She can't place the sound but she knows that she will find the thing responsible for it and cause it pain. Lots and lots of pain.

She stretches and rolls over, rubbing her eyes half-heartedly with one hand, and as she gains more and more awareness she realises, quite belatedly, that the sound is coming from her window. It's the sound of a sharp object repeatedly striking the glass–a bloody _owl _is trying to get in. She breathes out heavily and sits up with a melodramatic moan, cautiously opening her eyes and then hurriedly squeezing them shut again.

She's really regrets the whole window-facing-the-master-bed thing. When she gets up for work it's usually still pretty dark, but those bloody windows are _murder _on the weekends.

Cradling her head in her hands, she quietly waits for the bright violet and grey splotches, the ones shaped like her windows and burned into her eyelids even as she squeezes them shut, to go away. She just barely resists the urge to pick up the nearest object and hurl it at the unusually persistent owl as she does this, and once her head hurts a bit less she takes a deep breath and tries to figure out whether or not she's hung over.

She hadn't had much to drink, not really. Two or three drinks _tops_, and though Remus had made fun of her when she'd stumbled as they'd left the pub, she knows she'd been more clumsy and distracted than drunk. She hadn't had nearly as much to drink as the night they'd first met, anyway, and she'd been mostly in control of what she'd been saying. She may have been tipsy, but definitely not drunk.

And _okay_, she might possibly sort of be a little bit of a light weight, but it's not like she lost control or forgot what happened. Although, as she thinks of it, she's fairly confident that she _couldn't_ forget how Remus was last night, even if she had been drunk.

He was just so–she had so many expectations of him, so many fantasies about what he'd be like when she finally got to know him. She'd gone into last night thinking a million good things about him already, and he hadn't just lived up to those expectations, oh no. Remus Lupin had, quite easily, exceeded them.

She smiles as she thinks of it, stomach growing warm. She should really pat herself on the back, because she'd been completely right about the whole adorable thing. Throughout the night he'd been polite and gentle and swoon worthy and handsome and genuine and funny and engaged and just completely sweet. There was something about him, something about how kind and soft he was even when he was teasing her or giving her his by now very familiar you-are-completely-mental look, something that she was definitely willing to spend time investigating. And he'd been so completely beyond anything she'd ever expected that she'd had to, quite frequently, remind herself that it was not, in fact, appropriate to launch oneself over a table and into someone else's arms. No matter how perfect and scrumptious that someone may be.

She shakes her head at herself, finally venturing to open her eyes. She can't seem to keep the smile that's grown while she's thought about Remus off her face, and her smile grows even more as she remembers bits of their conversation: all of the ways he'd made her laugh, because Remus Lupin is, despite his sometimes sad smile, _hilarious_; the way he'd smiled his shy but brilliant smile when she'd teased him, or how he'd listened to her with a ducked head and softer, more reserved smile as he twisted the wrapper of his straw between his long, thin fingers; the way she'd felt safe and comfortable around him, despite the chaotic atmosphere of the pub; the way she'd felt comfortable letting her guard down without even thinking about it.

_Oh, yes,_ she thinks to herself. _You've got it bad_.

And it should probably scare her, really, that she is so completely taken with him, and yet she, for once, doesn't want to over think things right now. Not more than she already has, that is.

She loves how she feels around Remus.

That's it.

And for now, that's all she's going to define it as. She loves being around him, and even though she'll have to harness some self restraint, she knows being his friend is more than enough right now.

Besides, she's going to see him again soon, and she doesn't what to psych herself out about it before then.

Her grin, if possible, widens even more as she thinks about that. There'd been a bet made between them, early on, over who could consume more orders of chips. She's not entirely sure how it started, though she's pretty sure it has something to do with her telling him about her mother's frequent disgust at how much food she eats. He'd refused to believe that she could out eat him, what with her small stature, and she'd been determined to prove him wrong.

She had, of course, succeeded.

Remus, the gentleman, had, in the end, expressed an appropriate amount of admiration, and he'd only accused her of cheating once. She'd argued that he'd never told her she wasn't allowed to morph her stomach larger, so the night had ended in her victory and Remus' promise to have lunch with her on Wednesday.

That particular condition of the bet had come about because she'd complained to him that, due to her duty of helping train Hit Wizards and Witches in combat on Wednesdays, she misses the Ministry's lunch hours and has to eat late at a muggle pub down the road. She'd complained about how the people in the pub always stare at her because of her funky hair colours and general solitariness, and she'd complained about how _boring _it is, even if Mad-Eye'd chatted with the owner and arranged for her to eat free every time. He'd wondered why she didn't pack her own lunch to bring in, but it'd taken her less than three sentences detailing one of her more disastrous cooking mishaps for him to understand why she chose the pub. After she'd won the bet, they had agreed, if only tentatively, that he'd meet her there this week.

That marvellous news is enough to give her the energy to stretch and get up, for she's got loads of paperwork to do for Monday and if she doesn't stop that damn owl she'll go insane.

She shuffles across her room, yawning as she opens the window and ignores the owl's glare as it's finally let in.

"Come with me to the kitchen," she tells it, leading the owl through the living room and beyond, where she tries to find something suitable to feed it. She eventually settles on one of the treats she'd bought for her own owl, Laurel, who gives her a petulant look in response.

"Oh, don't be like that," she scolds, feeding the other (now less irate) owl the treat before carefully untying the scroll on its leg. Once the bird's eaten, it hoots happily and flies back out of the window, and she opens the note and begins to read.

_Tonks,_

_You have so much explaining to do. Mike asked how last night went and when I described your departure he said you've met a guy (TWICE!) who sounds frighteningly similar to the one from last night. Why didn't you tell me? This is not the way to treat your best friend! Ever since I moved out you've stopped telling me these things. Just because I got married doesn't mean you can cut me out!_

_And don't think you can get out of this by pretending to have work. You explicitly told me you were free Sunday–tomorrow. We are having lunch at that café we went to for my engagement party. 2:00. Non-negotiable. Be there ready to explain yourself._

_Love,  
__Jane xx_

Tonks smiles to herself at Jane's tone, despite the fact that she's put two and two together. She should've been expecting this, really...she's almost surprised it's taken this long for Jane to demand an explanation for her hurried departure the night before. She feels almost guilty for not mentioning Remus to her in the first place, but she feels pretty pathetic around Jane when they discuss guys. Jane's _married_, for Merlin's sake, and to the guy everyone had a crush on at Hogwarts. It makes discussing something as difficult to describe as her feelings for Remus Lupin a conversation she's avoided at all costs.

She sighs, heading back to her bedroom to shower. She's got to get all of her work done today if she's going to meet Jane and convince her it's nothing tomorrow.

~ o0o ~

Wednesday finds Nymphadora Tonks tapping her foot anxiously as she helps the Hit Wizards and Witches perfect their wand skills. She's surprised some of them have made it this far in the process; she's slightly alarmed by some of their lack of aptitude when they have duelling practice. Though, with the sporadic DADA professorship, she supposes she shouldn't be so surprised.

When one of the youngest ones mentions Remus, and how much he'd helped them, she tries (and probably fails) to keep the tears from her eyes. It's not the first time she's heard about how incredible he was as a professor, and it hurts to know he can't teach anymore. It makes her so _frustrated_, and angry at the Ministry and society in general, but she recognises, despite her optimism, that some things aren't so easy to change.

She tries to keep her patience up with the class even as she checks her watch for what feels like the millionth time. They've all got to successfully stun a dummy that's charmed to dart around as a criminal might before she can call it a day, and at this point she's fairly certain she'll be late.

Eventually, once they've all succeeded, she hurriedly thanks them and makes her getaway, dashing to her cubicle where she throws her robes unceremoniously on the floor. She then attempts to look at least marginally composed as she makes her way to the lifts, boards one, and tries very hard not to hex or murder someone as she waits for it to get to the atrium. It feels like they're stopping at every bloody office along the way, and she only calms herself by pulling a wrinkled piece of paper from her pocket and reading over it.

She knows she should feel pathetic for keeping the note Remus had sent her, but she can't help it. It'd been too adorable to ignore. She'd received it right after her talk with Jane, in which Jane had made what felt like _millions _of assumptions about Remus based on what Mike'd told her and didn't appear to care that Tonks denied them all. She'd left their lunch with the sage advice to _be herself_ because "it never fails–just look at Will and me," and it had been all she could do not to scream in frustration.

Instead, she'd made it home to find an owl waiting patiently on her window sill. It was a large barn owl, missing a few feathers and looking a bit worse for wear. The bird had blinked serenely at her with giant amber eyes, and though at first glance it had appeared sickly, it also appeared to be well-fed.

She'd let it in, and it'd quietly followed her to the kitchen when she'd asked it to. There, it'd hooted softly in thanks after she'd given it an extra-large treat (because she already loved it), and even Laurel, who was usually temperamental with other birds, had seemed content with the visitor.

"Wait until I've read the note, would you?" She'd asked the bird. It'd hooted again, offering her its leg, and she'd stroked it absentmindedly as she read the neat and elegant script.

_Nymphadora,_

_Pardon me for the use of your first name, but it hardly feels appropriate to refer to you as Tonks in a letter. _

_How are you? I hope your morning wasn't too horrible yesterday–despite how little alcohol you consumed, your behaviour led me to believe that you might suffer from a hangover. Happily, I do not suffer from hangovers (perhaps the sole perk of being a werewolf), though I would have switched places with you in a heartbeat if it had prevented you from having one. _

_I wanted to write you to thank you for taking me out last night. I can't remember laughing so much since I taught my third year students to banish boggarts. You'll have to remind me to tell you about the student whose worst fear was Severus Snape; it is, I think, quite an amusing story. Perhaps I could tell you on Wednesday._

_Where did you want to meet and when? That is, if you really did want to meet–I wouldn't hold it against you if you didn't. _

_Remus_

_P.s. Please forgive Eos if she's a little slow. I haven't sent her out in what seems like ages._

Tonks had responded immediately with a cheery note back, ribbing on Remus for not getting hangovers, using her first name, and naming his bird so poetically. She'd assured him that she had every intention of meeting him, and had only just resisted making fun of him for assuming she wouldn't want to. She'd stopped herself from doing the latter when she'd realised just how carefully he'd written the entire letter and how nervous he must have been to send it. She could practically see him in her minds eye, nervously trying to figure out how to phrase things. She was even a bit surprised he'd written.

_Must be that Gryffindor courage_, she'd told herself.

Either way, the letter had left her with an earsplitting grin all day. And now, as she rereads it on her way to meet him, it helps calm the anxiety being late causes her.

When she finally arrives at the pub a few minutes later, she finds Remus sat at a table in the back and her grin returns in full force. He's twisting the wrapper from his straw in between his fingers a bit nervously, but when he looks up at her he stills the movement and smiles. Her stomach definitely _doesn't _flip or anything when he does that, and she doesn't feel self conscious _at all_ as she walks and does _not _trip on her way to the table.

"Wotcher," she greets, suddenly a bit nervous.

"Hello," he returns almost shyly, and then, "do you really eat _here_ once a week?"

The faint tone of disgust in his voice is enough to make her laugh and break the tension. "Awful, isn't it? Mad-Eye said the Ministry would only cover a cheap place, and I don't have time to get any further away."

With that they fall into a happy chatter, Tonks telling Remus about her day and the incompetent Hit Wizards and Witches. He gently ribs on her for sounding so superior, to which she returns that she's allowed to be after surviving three years of Mad-Eye's training. She almost tells him about the student's comment about his teaching, but for some reason she feels as if it'll only embarrass him. Besides, she's still not sure how much of that she can bring up; after all, the memories might be painful for him.

Remembering his letter, however, she does ask about the Severus Snape boggart.

"Ah, yes," Remus says, eyes twinkling happily. "It was perhaps my favourite lesson I've ever taught."

She sits back and watches him speak, taking in the gentleness of his voice and his controlled hand motions. He's quite animated now, the way he is when he talks about teaching, and since they've already ordered their food and are now just waiting for it to come she can focus her whole attention on him.

"I had each pupil face a boggart I'd found in a cupboard. It's quite an empowering experience, being able to banish one. Anyway, one student's worst fear turned out to be Severus Snape." Remus pauses as Tonks laughs, and she brings her legs up so she's cross legged before motioning for him to continue.

"Well, I'd taught them to focus on something that would make their boggart funny in order to banish it with laughter, and it was too good of an opportunity to pass up."

"What did you have the student think of?" Tonks asks, leaning forward in anticipation. She'd never imagine Remus as one to make fun of someone else, but somehow she can see him taking advantage of this situation. After all, he _does_ have a mischievous side.

"Well, I knew this student lived with his grandmother, so I asked him to imagine Severus in her clothes," Remus returns and Tonks chokes on the drink she's just taken a sip of.

"You what?" She exclaims, delighted. "And did it work?"

"Better than I ever could have imagined," Remus says, laughing with her. She can't be sure, but she's fairly certain she sees him watching her as she giggles.

"He didn't find out, did he?" She asks once she's calmed a bit.

"Unfortunately, he did," Remus responds, slightly less animatedly. "I never meant for that to happen. Dumbledore was quite amused, however, so I didn't feel too guilty."

Tonks just shakes her head at him, grinning. "I wish I could've seen it. Were there any other good ones?"

A dark look crosses Remus' face. "I'm afraid not," he says, and when she raises her eyebrows he explains, "we had to end early, just before Harry Potter faced the boggart. I was afraid it would turn into Voldemort, and I wasn't willing to expose his classmates to that."

Tonks is a bit ashamed to admit that she stiffens when he says Voldemort. It's not as if she hasn't heard it before; Mad-Eye, in fact, says his name as well. It's just...the war effected her as it did everyone, perhaps more than some, and she's not used to hearing it out loud.

If Remus notices, however, he doesn't comment, which she's grateful for. Instead of perseverating on it, she says, "How did you get rid of it in the end?"

"I stepped in front of him and banished it myself," Remus explains. "I've dealt with them enough that I can get rid of mine without trouble."

"Oh. What form does yours take?" She asks, curious. It takes her a moment to realise how personal a question that is, and once she does she hastily backtracks, "Never mind, you don't have to tell me."

"No, it's okay," he says calmly. "Mine's been the full moon ever since I was a kid."

Tonks cringes. What a _daft _question to ask him. Really, what did she expect the answer to be? And what does she even say to that?

Her face must betray her guilt and unease, for Remus smiles gently at her and changes the subject, asking, "What about you?"

Tonks' stomach turns to ice.

"I don't know," she answers quickly, looking at her hands.

Remus frowns. "You never faced one in school?"

"No, I did," she says, fidgeting with one of the rings she wears so as not to meet his eyes. She pauses, wondering just what to say, before explaining, "It's just...mine's happened since then, so I don't know what it would be now."

She dares a quick glance at Remus and feels immediately guilty when she sees the stricken look on his face.

"Nymphadora–" he says quickly, horrified.

"It's fine," she interrupts, mustering a grin that feels a bit brittle. "How were you supposed to know? Besides, I asked you first."

Remus reaches for her hand but stops himself. "But still, I shouldn't have–"

"Really, Remus, it's all right," she says, breathing out heavily once and then shaking it off. She doesn't want to talk about it; she can't tell him about _her_, not this early on. She knows that personal tragedies are the kinds of things you save for way down the line, when it's too late for the other person to turn and run.

She's almost relieved when the food comes and Remus drops the subject, instead electing to comment on how surprisingly good it is for the shabby nature of the restaurant. She agrees with him around a mouthful of food and then cringes inwardly at how un-ladylike it was. Though, she supposes, he did witness her consume an inhuman amount of chips, so this can't really be any worse.

After they've finished the meal, during which they discuss mostly the food and a bit about their favourite and least favourite Hogwarts professors, Tonks reluctantly glances at her watch. She sighs when she sees the time and motions for their waiter to bring them the bill.

"Do you have to get back?" Remus asks, and she's definitely hoping she's not imagining the note of disappointment in his voice.

"Yeah," she says, not trying too hard to mask her own disappointment. "You should join me for lunch more often, though," she says with what she hopes is an encouraging smile. "I could use the company."

"Definitely," he says enthusiastically, before, more unsurely, "if-if that was something you wanted."

She grins at him. "Of course it is! I don't much enjoy eating here by myself. The amount of stares I've got this time with you here is noticeably less than when I'm the punk-looking woman all alone."

He relaxes, but then stiffens a bit when the waiter hands the bill to Tonks.

"I'll pay–" he starts, but Tonks cuts him off.

"Don't be daft, Remus. You're doing me a favour by meeting me here. The least I can do is pay."

He shakes his head at her. "Tonks, I can't let you pay for me–"

"I'm not asking," she returns firmly.

He furrows his brow. "Really, you're being ridiculous–"

"I'm not being ridiculous!" She snaps. "I invited you here, I'll pay."

Remus opens his mouth again, to protest, she's sure, but she says, "Look, I know finding a job isn't exactly easy for you. And I didn't want to bring that up. But I make a lot as an Auror, even as a rookie, and I'm more than happy to spend–" she glances at the bill, "what, six quid?–to have company over lunch once a week."

She feels slightly guilty for pulling the employment card, since she's sure Remus is ashamed of it, but to her surprise he gives in. She has a feeling this is going to be a regular argument, though.

As he walks her back to the employee entrance at the Ministry and they say goodbye, and as she takes in his walk, the one that draws as little attention to him as possible, she thinks to herself, _this won't do. _

She'll just have to find him a job.

~ o0o ~

As it turns out, finding Remus a job is absurdly easy for her.

That night she has dinner with her parents, since she hadn't felt like going over on Sunday like she usually would, and it proves to be quite fruitful this time instead of being its usual painful affair.

It's not that she doesn't like her parents. In fact, she and her dad enjoy a ridiculously close relationship. They get on great, and she loves visiting him. Her mum, on the other hand, is an entirely different matter.

Andromeda Tonks is...well, she's a Black. She's obviously the best of her sisters, and Tonks loves her dearly, but no amount of love from her dad can change 17 years of being raised a Black. To her credit, her mum's done her best to distance herself from the past, but there are little things about her–the way she's slightly prejudiced even though she tries not to be, the way she carries herself, the way she corrects Tonks' behaviour and tries to make her so _ladylike_–that betray the way she was brought up.

Tonks and her mum tend to clash most about Tonks' tomboyishness. Andromeda was horrified when Tonks'd started sporting electric hair colours, which Tonks' sister and father had fiercely approved of, and she'd been staunchly against Tonks joining the Auror Programme. The biggest chasm in their relationship, however, is the way emotions are approached.

Throughout Tonks' childhood, Andromeda had always seemed distant. Ted had constantly reassured Tonks that her mum loved her all the same but that it was hard for her to express this because her own family never had. Her dad'd told her Andromeda didn't know _how _to connect emotionally sometimes–it was hard for her mum.

To Tonks, however, it'd seemed like a coldness, a disapproval. She'd felt hurt by it. Now, as an adult, she gets it. But that doesn't change the fact that she spent much of her childhood feeling inadequate towards her mother and getting much needed mothering from her older sister instead.

But that night, as she eats with her parents, she pushes these feelings aside and carefully brings up the topic of her new friend. She doesn't tell them much about him; not even his name, for she knows her mother reads the _Prophet _religiously. Instead, she tells them about a man she's met through her friends. She keeps him carefully vague and doesn't reveal any of her romantic interest in him, but she does mention that he's a werewolf.

She tells them, passionately, how wrong it seems to her that he can't find work, despite his intelligence and friendliness and _goodness. _She may even rant a bit. And when she looks up, after she's finished, she's met with a sight she expects.

Her dad looks proud, and maybe slightly amused, and her mum looks faintly disgusted. She knows Andromeda's never really got over her prejudices towards "dark creatures"–she may have accepted Ted and muggleborns, but she's not quite there when it comes to other "species". Tonks is disappointed, but not surprised.

Neither parent comments much on what she's said, and instead her mum asks her if she's heard from Evan lately, one of her classmates who her mum always wanted her to date. She wrinkles her nose and shoots the topic of her love life down, before her dad carefully intervenes and brings up quidditch.

Later that night, after Tonks has said goodbye to her mum, her dad accompanies her to the door. As he's helping her put her coat on, he says, "Look, Dora, are you very serious about this bloke?"

She tries very hard to keep her features composed. "What do you mean?"

He gives her a look. "You know what I mean."

"We're not dating, if that's what you're asking," Tonks says carefully, resolutely avoiding mentioning how she actually _feels _about him.

He gives her another, longer look.

She tries not to fidget as she stares back.

Eventually he says, "All right, Dora, you don't have to tell me. But just answer this: is he a good man?"

"Yes," she says without hesitation.

"You know what I'm asking," he presses. "I don't mean whether you think he's a nice guy. I'm asking if he's a good man. Would you vouch for his character?"

She furrows her brow. "Yes, Dad. He's-he's one of the best I've known."

He stares at her for a long moment. Then, finally, he says, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay," he responds, pulling something from his pocket. "Peter Campbell gave me this the other day. You remember Mr. Campbell, don't you? He's a good friend. His granddaughter Lucy and Cassiopeia were good friends in school."

Tonks stiffens a bit at the mention of her sister but nods at her father all the same. "Yes, Dad, I remember him."

"He's in charge of the Opinion section of the _Prophet_," her father continues, smoothing out the folded parchment. "We had him 'round for dinner the other night and he was saying that they need someone to write book reviews. Maybe he'd hire your friend."

Tonks' eyes widen, and she asks her father hopefully, "D'you really think he would? I think R–I think hewould love that!"

Ted smiles indulgently at his daughter. "I don't see why not, Dora. From what you say, he sounds very intelligent. Besides, Peter's the last guy to be judgmental about this sort of thing. His son–perhaps you shouldn't tell him I told you this, but his son Aaron was attacked by a werewolf when he was just twelve years old."

"That's horrible," Tonks says, picturing a young Remus in her head.

Her dad nods gravely. "He was always such a sick young boy, Aaron was, and he didn't survive his first year of transformations. Broke poor Peter's heart. But he loved his boy all the same, and I'd be willing to bet he'd be sympathetic to your friend."

Tonks nods, hugging her father gratefully. "Thanks, Dad."

"You got it, kiddo," he says, rubbing her back. "And don't mind your mother's attitude. You know she never overcame what she was taught when she was young."

"I know," Tonks says quietly, "only I don't get the impression she tries very hard."

Her dad sighs. "Well, Dora, I know you and your mother haven't always seen eye to eye, but she loves you. At least try for me, will you?"

Tonks is suddenly flooded with guilt. "Of course, Dad."

"Good girl," he responds approvingly, and kisses the top of her head. "Now get home and get some rest. I know you haven't been sleeping well."

Tonks nods at him, hoping he won't go on, but he does.

"The nightmares have been getting worse as her birthday approaches, haven't they?"

She sighs slightly, knowing his heart's in the right place but wishing he knew how hard it is for her to talk about it. "They've been fine, Dad. It's usually only bad the week before and in December."

He gives her an intent look before saying, "All right, Dora. But don't keep it all in. You know I'm here to talk if you need it."

"I know," she says quietly, before mustering enough energy to give him a relatively convincing smile. "See you, Dad."

"I love you," he tells her, and she returns the words before heading out the door and down the path, out of range of the anti-disapparition wards. After one last shouted thank you she turns on the spot and disapparates.

Back in her flat she's definitely not ashamed to admit that she immediately does a victory dance, despite her dad bringing heavy stuff up. She knows how much it will mean to Remus to have work, not just because he could use the money but because of what it will do for him psychologically.

She almost wants to owl him right away, but Laurel's asleep and temperamental. Besides, she thinks with a grin, she's determined to tell him in person. The look on his face will be worth how hard it'll be for her to keep her mouth shut.

And, she thinks bracingly, it's always a possibility that Mr. Campbell won't be on board. And worse than not telling him at all would be telling Remus about the job and having it fall through.

If it's the last thing she does, she knows she won't be another disappointment to him.

* * *

_A/N: How'd you like the chapter? I know nothing too exciting happens, but I figured I ought to show how their friendship grew. _

_A note on bird names: Tonks' will come up later and make more sense (I hope). Remus named his in a very professorish and poetic manner; Eos is the greek goddess of dawn, and once every 28 days the end of his pain is brought with the rising of the sun._

_As for Tonks' boggart/her Dad's worrying, that'll be explained later (with her bird, actually). Her comment about saving personal tragedies for when people can't abandon her is obviously pretty unhealthy, but her life hasn't been a walk in the park either. Just because she comes off as bubbly doesn't mean she doesn't understand pain._

_Anyway, I'd love to hear what you thought! Chapter 8 should be up next week :)_


	8. Chapter 8: Peter Campbell

_A/N: I am so, so sorry to take so long to update without warning you. I knew I was going to have to start updating less frequently at some point, but I'd planned on warning you guys first. Usually I write an entire story before posting it, but this time I was too excited to wait. I overestimated how much free time I'd have and didn't plan realistically enough, and now I'm starting to get close to what I have pre-written. All of this is basically my long winded way of saying that it might be longer in between updates; I don't want to rush chapters out or I won't be happy with them. I hope you understand and can bear with me :)_

_Anyway, there's a bit of drama in this one (as some of you accurately predicted) but it's resolved quite quickly. And it's pretty necessary...besides, what doesn't ruin a relationship makes it stronger ;) _

_As always, thanks to everyone who read or reviewed last chapter. Special thanks to StrawberryFields, Ronksxx, and Hannah, who left wonderful reviews on chapter 7 but who I couldn't PM to thank._

* * *

**Chapter 8 - Peter Campbell**

August 5th, 1994  
August 17th, 1994

When Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody gave her the afternoon off, Nymphadora Tonks doubts he expected her response. In fact, she's fairly certain that her level of excitement worried him a bit. After all, most people grin and say thank you instead of throwing their arms around their boss and doing a victory dance.

Then again, she thinks to herself, she's hardly _most people_.

But when Mad-Eye'd come in right after lunch and told her to take the afternoon off, she hadn't been able to help feeling excited. She's been trying to find a time during the work day to visit Peter Campbell since her dad told her about his job opening two days ago, and the afternoon off has presented her with the perfect amount of time to put in a good (scratch that, _great_) word for Remus Lupin.

Now, as she practically skips to the atrium, she's both relieved and nervous. She's nervous because she's not exactly good at this kind of thing–at the being-professional-and-making-a-good-impression-on-somebody-who-could-do-something-really-important-for-you thing. She's relieved because she's almost spilt the beans to Remus about the job more than once via owl, and the only things that've really stopped her are Laurel's disdainful look when she approaches with a letter and the overwhelming desire to see his face when she tells him the news.

She grins to herself as she gets the creased piece of paper with Mr. Campbell's information out of her pocket and reads the address. She's been anxious to see Remus again (and, she has to admit to herself, a bit afraid of how anxious she is and how much she misses him despite having just seen him two days ago), and getting him a job will be a perfect excuse.

Five minutes later, Tonks is stood in front of the _Prophet's _main office in Diagon Alley, nervously fiddling with one of her rings as she works up the courage to go inside. Her stomach's full of nerves and doubts and misgivings, but she forces herself to take a deep breath and enter the building.

She immediately finds herself in a cramped and busy entry room, which smells of paper and ink, and she takes in her surroundings as she walks up to the welcome desk where a bored looking secretary is sat examining her nails.

"Er–wotcher," Tonks greets awkwardly.

The woman looks up and raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

Feeling suddenly nervous under the her uninterested gaze, Tonks stammers, "I was–er–I'm here to see a, um, Mr. Peter Campbell?"

"Office 4E, straight back," the woman says, already looking back at her nails by the time she's done speaking.

"Right," Tonks says, trying to stifle her annoyance. "Thanks, then."

She waits a few seconds for a response that doesn't come, before rolling her eyes and setting out for office 4E. Miraculously, she finds it relatively quickly and, even more miraculously, she doesn't attract too many stares as she does so. She supposes, idly, that it's because she's made her hair a more natural colour for this meeting.

Straightening her shirt self-consciously, she knocks on the door. After a few moments a frail voice calls, "Come in."

She slowly pushes the door open and takes in the sight inside with a slightly slack jaw. There're stacks of books and papers everywhere, littering not only all the available tables and chairs but also the floor. Each are arranged in columns, some almost as tall as she is (which, _okay_, isn't that tall even with her morphed stature, but _still_) and she has to manoeuvre her way through them before she she can see the man sat at the desk in the back corner.

He's older than she expected, though she supposes her dad _is _in his sixties and thus his friends should be about his age; besides, he did say that Mr. Campbell had a _grand_daughter Cassie's age, which would make him much older. The little hair he has left is almost all white, and his eyes are surrounded by enormous black glasses. He's reading something when she walks in, but when he looks up his eyes are magnified by the lenses in a way that's far more comical than it should be.

He takes the glasses off when he sees her and, with a slightly trembling hand, tucks them into his breast pocket. His voice waivers noticeably when he speaks. "Why hello, young lady. Please, sit down."

He indicates the only chair not occupied by books or papers, and she takes a seat, scooting in what she hopes is a subtle way closer to him. She's not sure he'll be able to hear her otherwise; in fact, she's pretty surprised he even heard her knock.

"What can I do for you today?" He asks kindly, clasping his hands together to stop their shaking.

"Oh," she says, realising she probably should've thought of something to say. "Er–I'm–well my Dad, Ted Tonks, told me–"

"So _you're _Ted's daughter Nymphadora!" He exclaims, beaming at her.

"Yes," she says, slightly relieved her dad's told him about her and slightly annoyed he's given him her first name.

"Ted told me you'd be coming," he says with a smile, before turning more serious and saying, "and do forgive me if it's a painful subject, but you do look so like your sister. She came around sometimes with my granddaughter Lucy."

Tonks nods, giving him a tight smile before saying, "Yes, well, Dad told me you had an opening for someone to write book reviews for the editorial section?"

"Yes, that's right," he says, shuffling through some papers on his desk before pulling one out of a stack. "This is the basic description. Ted didn't tell me whether it was you who was interested or a friend."

"Oh, it's a friend," Tonks says quickly, taking the parchment from him. "I'm an Auror. Just qualified a month ago."

"Congratulations!" He exclaims, looking a bit surprised. "That's quite an achievement. You have a friend who might be interested, then?"

"Yes, I'm sure he'd be very interested," she tells him earnestly.

He frowns at her. "You haven't asked him yet?"

"No, not yet. I was afraid that–once you knew about him, I mean–you wouldn't want to hire him. He's been searching for a job, you see, and I didn't want to disappoint him."

"I've been looking for a qualified person to take this job for so long, young lady, that I'm sure I'd be pleased to hire just about anyone," he tells her.

"Well, like I said, I think he'd be perfect. He's very smart. It's just...well. He's got some personal issues that might interfere with his work."

"Ah," he says, and then, "I'm sure we could work something out. What is it that has you concerned?"

Suddenly, as she opens her mouth to tell him about Remus' lycanthropy, she panics.

It'd all seemed like such a perfectly grand idea when she'd thought of it before, but now, as she sits, ready to tell this stranger about Remus without his permission, she wonders whether this isn't a completely foolish idea to begin with. Isn't it absurdly presumptuous for her to come in here on his behalf without even _asking _him? Isn't it absurdly presumptuous to assume she can share his personal life with what could be his next boss? Isn't it absurdly presumptuous to guess that he'd even _want _this job in the first place?

But she's come here already, she reminds herself, and it's too late to turn back. Besides, it's not as if his lycanthropy is some sort of secret; anyone who reads the _Prophet _knows. And he can always turn it down, she supposes. It's just that she's slightly horrified at her own behaviour all of a sudden; it's shaken her to realise she's overlooked something so key.

She glances up again, realising she hasn't answered the question.

_It's now or never_, she tells herself.

"His name's Remus Lupin, and, well–" she starts, then takes a deep breath and says, "he's got lycanthropy. I mean, he's a werewolf."

There's a moment of silence in which Mr. Campbell's eyes suddenly turn very sad, and Tonks wonders whether her father was right at all. Sure, he'd loved his own son just the same when he'd been turned, but who's to say he doesn't resent all other werewolves or see them as the type of people who bite children?

She panics a bit, blurting, "But he's not–he's not like Fenrir Greyback. I mean, he transforms every full moon and everything, but he takes Wolfsbane to make himself safe. He'd never hurt anyone on purpose, I swear! He was just a boy when he was attacked. He's a good man."

The room has suddenly got very hot, and she's sure her face is flushed, but the look on Mr. Campbell's face relieves her–and breaks her heart. He's smiling, but it's a bit like Remus' smiles; sort of sad and soft all at once.

"I reckon he is a good man, Ms. Tonks," he says, reaching out to pat her hand. "I did read the article in the _Prophet_, but my neighbour Augusta tells me her grandson speaks most highly of him. If Dumbledore trusts him, and if Augusta trusts him, and if _you _trust him–well, I don't see why he shouldn't have the job. If he was a professor, he's more than qualified."

Tonks tries and fails to keep the giant grin off her face. "Really?"

He smiles at her enthusiasm. "Of course."

"Thank you!" She gushes. "Thank you so much! He'll be so excited! He's really kind, and I know he'll work hard to make up for any time he might miss around the full moon."

His smile grows a bit less sad. "I'm sure he will. Tell him to come here on Monday at eight in the morning, and I'll get him sorted out. We'll publish his reviews under a pseudonym and he can work from home whenever he has time, so long as he sends me the articles when I ask for them. That way he doesn't have to be seen here."

"Thank you, really," Tonks says, standing to go. "I can't wait to tell him the good news."

"You're very welcome, young lady. Thank you for getting me someone reliable to do the job."

Tonks beams at him one last time before walking as composedly as possible to the door. After she bids him a goodbye, which Mr. Campbell returns, she hears him say, "He's lucky to have you."

She's not entirely sure he's meant for her to hear, but she whispers, nonetheless, "I'm pretty sure it's the other way around."

~ o0o ~

Tonks stands outside a muggle pub, twisting her ring in nervous energy. She's early–it's 4:53 and she'd told Remus to meet her at 5:00.

She'd gone home after meeting with Mr. Campbell and had sent Laurel, despite her petulant look, off with a letter to Remus, telling him to meet her at the pub they'd visited last week because she had amazing news.

He'd responded immediately, sending a message back with Laurel (who'd been absolutely grumpy by the time she'd returned) saying he'd be there. She's almost sad that he was able to respond so quickly and meet with her without any forewarning; it means, she knows, that he has no plans. If he's able to drop what he's doing without problem, he's probably spending his days listlessly–and doing nothing productive all day, she knows, is awful for the mind. After all, the winter she'd spent home from school during her fifth year had only made her feel worse, and she imagines it's the same for Remus. Inactivity leads to the mind wandering and, if you've got painful memories, the last thing you want is for your mind to wander.

She rubs one arm awkwardly as she glances around.

She checks her watch again.

4:54.

Waiting for him when she's so excited is agonising.

Finally, after what feels like ages, he rounds the corner.

4:57.

He's early, the bloody git.

She smiles and waves him over, and he grins as he approaches her.

"Hello, Nymphadora," he greets.

She doesn't even scowl as she says, "Tonks, Remus. It's Tonks."

The look on his face says he knows that perfectly well and has decided to ignore it.

"You're off early," he says instead of responding to her correction.

Shifting her weight onto her other leg, she responds, "Mad-Eye let me go after lunch, can you believe it?"

He puts his hands in his pockets, leaning towards her slightly to hear her over the London traffic. "And what've you been doing with your afternoon off?"

"I," she says, pausing for dramatic effect, "have got you a job!"

She bites her lip in anticipation as she waits–and waits and waits–for the huge grin she's expecting.

Instead, she's met with silence. Remus' shoulders freeze a bit, and she can practically _see _his muscles clenching.

Tonks, assuming he's too shocked to react, or maybe just too cautious to let himself believe that she's being serious, elaborates, "I met with a man at the _Prophet _today. He was looking for someone to write book reviews, and when I told him about you he said he'd take you on. He told me to tell you to meet with him on Monday morning and you could start right away–"

She stops speaking when she realises Remus isn't just in shock; if he was, he would've reacted by now. Instead, he's still stood there, rigid, only he's brought his hands out of his pockets and is now clenching them together so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

"Remus?" She asks quietly, suddenly not at all sure of anything.

All of her insecurities, about her being presumptuous and over the top and just bloody _everything, _come flooding back in that moment. What the _hell _had she been thinking?

"Is there–did I do something wrong?" Her voice sounds so _small_.

He still doesn't raise his eyes to meet hers. After a few moments of silence, in which he opens his mouth, closes it, and then tries again, he finally says, faintly, "Tonks, I-I think it would be best if I left."

Shock rolls over her, cold and heavy. "What?"

"I just think–" he shuffles his feet. Then, taking a deep breath, he says, "This isn't going to work out."

She's confused. "What isn't going to work out?"

"This!" He says, agitated. "Us being friends, I mean."

It's as if she's been slapped. "And why the hell not?"

His jaw clenches. He looks at her briefly, then away, then back at her. It's as if he has to force the words out, but eventually he does. "Friends don't pity one another, Tonks. I thought I made it clear that I _don't want your pity_!"

The venom in his voice shocks her. She's so blindsided by this, by this anger, anger _at _her this time, that she can't even process his words. She says, dumbly, "What on earth are you on about? I don't pity you–"

"But you do!" He exclaims, hands suddenly in his hair. "You must!"

"What–"

"Do you even hear yourself? _Remus, I got you a job!_" He mimics harshly. "I don't need you to do things for me! It might surprise you, but I am actually capable of doing things _on my own_! I don't need your help!"

Her chest feels suddenly cold, and empty, and heavy all at once. Her voice sounds distant and pathetic in her ears. "But I was–I just thought you might like–"

"That I might like not having to rely on your charity?" He interrupts, voice raised enough that they're beginning to attract a few stares. "Well, yes, you're right about that! But not by you arranging with someone to get me work! I'm not a charity case!"

His words finally begin to sink in, but mostly she's feeling _hurt_, and shock, and anger, and confusion. And she feels, overwhelmingly, that he doesn't _get it. _"I know you're not–Remus, listen to yourself–"

"No, _you _listen to _yourself_!" He bursts out. "You come in here barely knowing me and you try to–to fix me or something and I don't need that! What I need is to feel human–to be treated as if I'm _equal_, or at least not pitied! I'd rather have you hate me than pity me!"

His words strike her hard and she staggers back a bit, and although she _knows _she doesn't pity him, the naïveté, the pure unrealistic optimism of her ideas come to her in full force. She may not pity him, but she sure has made an arse of herself. How could she have thought she knew what was best for him? How could she have not realised how little credit she was giving him by going to get him a job herself?

Her eyes well with tears. His anger is frightening, she can't deny that, but more than anything it _hurts_. Suddenly she's _desperate _for him to understand her, to understand the good intention behind her foolish actions.

"I–I'm sorry, you're right, I didn't th-think. I didn't–Merlin, Remus, the last thing I want is for you to feel like I _pity _you, it's just–my Dad, he was saying he had a friend looking for someone to write reviews a-and I knew you needed a job and I should have talked to you about it but I was afraid it wouldn't come through and I didn't want to get your hopes up and–"

She takes an unsteady breath in an attempt to calm herself down. Clearing her throat, which is now heavily constricted with tears, she continues, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't ask you, I just–I mean, he's a family friend, so I thought if _I _put in a good word–"

She finally glances up at Remus and, when their eyes meet, hers full of tears and apologies, his wall comes down and reveals _pain_, and regret, and a kindness that fills her with relief and even more hurt simultaneously.

His voice is hoarse as he says, softly, "Don't _cry_, Tonks–"

She takes a hiccuping breath, angrily wiping away the tears that only fall faster as he comforts her. "Damn it–"

But suddenly he's all sorrow and sympathy, and he's stepping towards her, saying, "Hey, Tonks, don't cry, I'm sorry–"

And she, ridiculously, chokes out, "No, don't be–"

"Hey, come here, Nymphadora..." he says softly, as if he's afraid she'll run, and suddenly his arms are closing around her, and she's not even sure what to do with herself. A part of her wants to accept his hug, to let herself melt into him like she's so often fantasised of doing, but another part of her is so _confused_, and still a bit scared, and ashamed, so ashamed, so she ends up struggling to get away from him.

"No, don't fight me–listen, Nymphadora," he says, holding her tighter but still being careful not to hurt her.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, in the part not worrying about how awful she must seem to him, she realises that he's called her Nymphadora again, and that this, contrary to normal, is a good thing, because he'd reverted to Tonks before and that had _hurt_.

"Hey, shh, it's okay," he tells her, one arm around her back holding her firmly to him and the other gently pushing the back of her head into his neck, where her tears wet his collar, "I'm sorry, I'm not angry, it's okay."

She tries, miserably, to compose herself, because sure she's wanted forever to be in Remus' arms but this is so _not _how she imagined it happening. Her hands, at some point, have come to hold the front of his shirt, and her elbows are becoming sore from being bent, so she carefully moves to wrap them around Remus' torso. (She thinks, ridiculously, that despite how _warm _and solid he feels beneath her, he is too thin.)

He waits a moment for her breathing to begin to even out before he says, hoarsely, "I'm sorry, Nymphadora, I didn't mean to get angry, it's just...I'm always so afraid that people will pity me, that they'll see me as some _good cause _or something and it's just–I'm a Gryffindor, all right? I've got pride, and I'm always–it can be so degrading, to have people pity me, and it makes me long for the hate or disgust, because at least that's human, and the thing is–I'm ashamed, really, to _need_ help, and I do sometimes, I do need help, and that's what you were trying to do."

He pauses a moment, and she holds her breath as she listens to him reveal more about himself than he has to her so far–voluntarily, at least.

"You were trying to help me," he says, half to himself and half to her, "And I know, logically, that it doesn't mean you pity me, it's just...it's hard for me to remember that when I get scared. And you're so–you're so wonderful, and I keep thinking that one day you're going to wake up and realise what I am and you'll hate me, or fear me, or pity me, and every time you give me the opportunity to convince myself you do feel one of those things, I take it."

His voice is still soothing, still quiet, and although she's calm now she doesn't dare pull away from him. Instead, she listens as he explains himself, as he makes his behaviour make sense. She listens, taking in the sound of his heart, the feel of his arms, warm and steady, holding her together. She takes in the way he smells, like woodsmoke and cold and coffee and something a little less definable. She registers, briefly, the way she feels safe.

"And it's not your fault that I'm so afraid, okay?" He continues, the hand from the back of her head sliding to her neck, where he gently pushes her back enough to see her face. "Don't listen to what I said before, that wasn't–I didn't mean it. I should have said thank you, because you did me a favour, and friends do favours, right? And it will mean so much to me–to have a job, to have a purpose–Merlin, I've screwed this up, and I'm so sorry–"

"No," she says, voice scratchy and clogged. She looks into his eyes earnestly, swallowing before saying, a bit more clearly, "No, Remus, I'm sorry. It was so presumptuous to assume you'd even _want _the job–and then to go and get it for you, like your mother or something–I was just so excited to be able to do something meaningful for you, and I wanted to surprise you. But I shouldn't have done, I'm sorry-"

He shakes his head at her, a small sigh and smile escaping him. "No, Nymphadora, please don't apologise–I should be thanking you. You have no idea what it means to me–"

He huffs, at himself she decides, before stepping back from her. She tries very hard not to pout, but by the slight grin on his face she's not sure she's succeeded. He moves back to a respectable distance before asking her, in an adorably unsure way, "Could we maybe try this again?"

She gives a laugh that sounds more like a sniffle and wipes her eyes clean, before looking up at him and saying, "Yeah."

"Okay," he says, his smile nervous but hopeful. "Hello, Nymphadora,"

She laughs again, running a hand through her hair as she surreptitiously (she hopes) morphs the puffiness of her eyes away. "Wotcher, Remus," she says, voice sounding almost normal, "I got you a job."

"You did?" He asks with a dramatic gasp. "How could I ever repay you?"

This time, her laugh sounds almost completely normal, and her voice only a bit scratchy as she responds, "You could come to lunch with me on Wednesdays. And hang out with me on the weekends when I'm lonely. And recommend me good books to read-"

"Whoa now, those are a lot of favours, are you sure you deserve them?" He asks playfully over his shoulder as he begins to walk towards the entrance of the pub.

"You're a git."

He grins as he opens the door for her, and as he follows her in he says, "But you know I'll do every one."

"Even the Wednesday lunches?" She asks, turning back to him as they wait to be seated. "You know you're going to have to sacrifice your health for those meals."

"Especially the Wednesday lunches," he counters, before telling the maitre de _two. _After they've followed her to a booth near the bar, he tells her, "I've been told I should put on weight."

She grins at him, gratefully accepting the water from their waitress. After taking a much needed drink she tells him, "I suppose you should."

He sobers up for a moment, telling her seriously, "I'll be there every week."

"Good," she says, not quite willing to show him how very much that means to her yet. "I expect to find you waiting for me at two o'clock then, every Wednesday."

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, and the twinkle in his eye that's finally back finds a partner in her own.

~ o0o ~

The next week, true to his word, Remus Lupin had shown up at the awful pub near the Ministry at two o'clock sharp to have lunch with her. Nymphadora Tonks had been, of course, chuffed to see him, though after the doleful owl he'd sent her the Saturday after their job fight she'd been a bit nervous about it.

Their dinner that Friday had ended without problem; in fact, the conversation had been great. They'd laughed and joked and shared stories and Tonks had, if it was possible, grown to fancy Remus even more. His ability to make her swoon doesn't even surprise her any more. The awkward air of their fight hadn't hung over them, as she'd at first feared it would–in fact, she feels almost closer to him now that they've got it out of the way.

He'd apparated her back to her flat and touched her arm a bit longer than necessary when he'd said goodnight, and they'd even spoken of his job without tension when she'd told him to owl her the second he got home on Monday.

Which is why the owl on Saturday had thrown her off. He'd written, of course, to apologise once again for assuming the worst the night before. The thing was that she'd already forgiven him. It makes sense to her, it really does. Once he'd explained himself, explained his fears, she'd got it. She's not angry with him over it; in fact, if anyone has a right to be angry about what happened, it's Remus.

She'd thought, on Friday, when they'd left things on good terms, that he was okay with it. But his owl suggested he was having a hard time forgiving himself. He'd even apologised _once again _on Monday when he'd owled to tell her how well his meeting with Mr. Campbell had gone. His message, which had told her he'd got the job, had ended with another bout of self deprecating apologies, to which she'd responded that she'd forgotten it and hoped he had too.

In the end, when she'd met him for lunch on Wednesday, he'd been so excited about his job that he'd forgotten to apologise again (if it'd even been his plan), so she was spared. She was relieved to see him so happy, and the look on his face, the one she'd missed in her botched attempt to tell him she'd got him a job, had made it all worth it.

Now, one week later, as she arrives slightly late to lunch (this time due to some idiotcompletely missing the target dummy and hitting her instead with a bloody_ skin breaking curse_), she hopes he'll still be in high spirits. She delights in his high spirits, because they show he's feeling better. And one day, she hopes, he'll be feeling better enough that he'll accept her as a part of his life, and not just as a friend.

She hurries into the pub to find Remus already sat at a table with two plates of food. As she approaches with a quick _wotcher_, he says, "I ordered your usual so you wouldn't be late, since–"

But he stops short when he sees her face.

"Nymphadora, what on earth happened?"

He's out of his seat before she can blink, and he extends a hand towards the still-visible wound on her face, neck, and arm, hesitating at the last moment so that just the tips of his fingertips brush the angry red mark. She notices, in the moments before her eyes flutter shut at the gentle touch, that his face is full of worry and perhaps a touch of anger.

"Nothing," she says eventually, once her mind's able to process more than _oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god_. Really, she thinks, he can't expect her to say anything of substance when he's absentmindedly trailing such a soft touch over her like that. Especially since he doesn't even seem to realise he's doing it.

"It doesn't look like nothing," he says in a slightly rough voice, and it's enough to jar her from her Remus-induced-bliss.

"Really, Remus, I'm fine," she tells him, sitting down as he finally realises his hand's still on her face and removes it hurriedly. "A Hit Wizard in training managed to miss his target and hit me instead. The day was saved by a hasty healing charm and a few curses his way."

He still looks a bit upset at this, but he sits back down with her and pushes her food towards her. "Eat, before it gets cold."

"Thank you," she says belatedly, realising how thoughtful he'd been. "I'm starved."

Twenty minutes later they're done eating and instead chatting about Quidditch, of all things, which Remus is surprisingly passionate about. When she asks him why, he briefly mentions his best friends playing in school and changes the subject, so she doesn't pry.

She likes this, chatting with Remus. He's a good listener, unlike so many blokes her age–she always feels like he genuinely cares about what she has to say. Sometimes, when she tells a long story, he ducks his head as he listens, and it's just about the cutest thing she's ever seen. And she's seen lots of cute things.

Remus makes her feel _important_. When they're together, she forgets about Dawlish's rudeness and how stressed she is about paperwork and how her mum's driving her up a wall. When she's with Remus, she feels safe and relaxed and full of nervous energy all at once. He lets her chatter, which she definitely doesn't mind, and he inserts witty comments and insightful remarks every once and a while. Sometimes, he'll tell her something about him, and every time he does that she feels incredibly trusted and valued that he can be so candid with her.

When she's not with him, everything makes her think of him. She'll think of what Remus would think of something she's heard, or she'll make a mental list of things that she needs to tell Remus about.

In short, she's got it bad. And that scares her. But it also, in some ways, makes her feel so very _alive_. She's never felt this...invested in someone before. She's never felt so important, so engaged, so aware of all the details yet all at once aware of the big picture. She can't describe the feeling, even when she tries. It's just..._Remus_.

As they walk back towards the employee entrance of the Ministry (because Remus, the great gentleman, would _never _let her go alone), Tonks turns to Remus suddenly, losing her footing a bit as she does.

He reaches out and steadies her, without even looking (or, she thinks, without even _thinking _about it), and instead of commenting on her clumsiness, as someone else might, he just gives her his attention. She half wants to hug him for that; most anyone would've taken the chance to make fun of her, but she knows Remus can tell that she's actually ashamed of her clumsiness and instead looks out for her feelings by not drawing attention to it.

"I forgot to ask you," she says once she's relatively steady, "about work this week."

His face brightens. "It's been wonderful. In fact, before you distracted me with your war wound, I was going to tell you that my first pay check comes on Friday."

She beams at him. "Does it? We should celebrate!"

"That's what I was thinking," he says, head ducked a bit. "I was actually wondering if–well, if you wanted to, I mean, if you didn't have plans, though I bet you do–well, I just mean that I don't want to assume you're free–"

"Remus," she cuts him off in amusement, "just ask me."

"Right," he says, shaking his head a bit at himself, "I was just wondering if I could maybe take us to dinner, at a nice restaurant somewhere. Just-just as a friendly thank you for everything you've done to me. If you wanted, I mean, because I don't want you to feel like you have to–"

"I'd love to," she says, cutting off what was turning into a nervous rant. He's got better at not assuming she'll suddenly realise she doesn't want to be his friend, but he still rambles sometimes, especially when he's asking for something. She gets the impression that he doesn't ask for things much, which she supposes shouldn't surprise her.

"Great," he says, giving her a real smile. "I'll pick you up after work? Here?"

"Sounds perfect," she tells him.

Later that day, as she sits and goes over exactly what he'd said for the fiftieth time, she curses Remus for being so enigmatic. She's fine with being friends with him for now. That's not the frustrating thing. It's when he does things like _this_, things that under normal circumstances would be seen as couple-y, that drives her mad.

Because he's basically asked her out. Or that's what she's been telling herself. And the fact that he's picking her up from work...she's definitely not afraid to admit that she's fantasised about him doing that before in her head.

But there was that one word that ruined it all. _Friendly_. Here she is thinking that things are going in the right direction, and then he throws a word like that in.

She sighs, forehead planted firmly on her desk.

She's willing to wait for him. She is. She just wishes he didn't make it so hard.

* * *

_A/N: How did you feel about the chapter? Like, dislike? Is it too long?_

_On Remus' reaction to Tonks getting him a job: I floundered back and forth about how this one would go. In a perfect world, he'd be overjoyed and they'd kiss and Voldemort would magically die and...yeah, not happening. The rationale behind what ended up happening was that I thought it was (1) important to highlight Remus' weaknesses and insecurities, and (2) important to show how idealistic Tonks is. Obviously, Tonks is pretty young and she's very optimistic. In her mind, she's doing something good for a friend. It shows that, try as she might, she still doesn't completely understand Remus, and that she sometimes gets so caught up in what she thinks is right that she doesn't stop to think through all the potential consequences._

_Also, I think it's unrealistic for any couple to never fight. They're not technically together yet, but they're certainly headed in that direction and successful relationships involve fighting and being able to make up and move on. So there's that as well :) _

_Anyway, I hope some of that made sense! Thanks for reading, and chapter 9 will be up soon!_


	9. Chapter 9: The First of Many

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read/reviewed last chapter. It means so much to me! I'm very grateful to everyone for sticking with me despite the slower updates :)_

_Chapter 9 is dedicated to Hannah, StrawberryFields, Ronksxx (no, not sick of them at all, please don't' think that!), and Guest, who all left lovely reviews on chapter 8 but who I couldn't PM to thank._

* * *

**Chapter 9 - The First of Many**

August 19th, 1994

"Stop twisting that ring of yours, lass. You're stressing _me_ out."

Nymphadora Tonks jumps slightly as a large, gnarled hand closes over hers and stills her nervous movement.

"Sorry, Mad-Eye," she mutters, stuffing her hands in her pockets to counteract her desire to repeat the motion.

"Now, now, Alastor, I'm sure Nymphadora here has plenty of exciting things planned for her Friday night that don't involve waiting for Proudfoot to come back so we can debrief," drawls John Dawlish.

His tone, in fact, suggests that he very much doubts it.

"As a matter of fact, I do," she snaps petulantly, throwing her condescending colleague a filthy look.

His expression gets no less smug.

Mad-Eye rolls his eyes at both of them.

"Not that you'd know about going out, or anything," she adds a moment later, taking her frustration at being stuck at the office late when she's supposed to be meeting Remus Lupin out on the aloof prat.

"In fact, I have a date with my _wife _later on. Some of us find life partners who can stand to be around us and get _married_. Quite a concept, I know, but still," he responds frostily.

She wonders if he can hear her teeth grinding together.

This is something Dawlish gets on her case about _all the time_, and he always uses her first name just to piss her off. On any other day, she might let it roll off her, but today's different. Today she's late for a very important date, and she's extra sensitive about her lack of boyfriend right now because she so desperately _wants _one.

She's about to let it go and take the high road, she really is, but instead he adds, "Though I suppose finding a man to wrap around your finger wouldn't be too hard for you, now would it, Nymphadora? Your powers are, after all, very..._appealing _to some. That's how you get them to stay around, isn't it?"

Her fist makes the journey from her pocket to his face before she can even register she's moving.

She'd be lying if she didn't say the crunch of his nose is slightly satisfying. It's also slightly disgusting, and she finds herself thinking, in the part of her brain that's not absolutely shocked at her own actions, that _this _is why she never went through with her desire to be a Healer.

In the split second of absolute silence that follows her punch (which, she thinks to herself, was a _damn _good one), she's aware of a number of things. The first is the look of absolute _fury _on Dawlish's face. The second is the look of shock and _amusement _on Mad-Eye's. The third is a dull, throbbing pain in her knuckles that the muggle movies she used to watch with her Gran _so _did not prepare her for.

Things are in slow motion for a few seconds, and it's as if someone's pressed a _mute _button. She hears the thudding of her own heart, beating absurdly slowly, and then suddenly things are normal speed and _loud _in comparison.

A few things happen immediately. Dawlish spits out blood, whether from his mouth or his nose she has _no _idea, and it's very red against his robes and the floor. Next, Proudfoot, whose arrival she'd _completely _missed, pats her on the back, and she finds she doesn't resent him nearly as much for being late. Then, Mad-Eye laughs. Not just a chuckle, but a full laugh.

Tonks, for her part, stands there, looking between her rapidly swelling knuckles and Dawlish's bloody face. And this time she means bloody literally.

She realises, suddenly and belatedly, that she's speaking. The words reach her a few seconds late, and they sound a bit dazed. "Shit, Dawlish, I'm sorry–"

But Mad-Eye cuts in, "Don't apologise, lass! That was quite a punch. Besides, he had it coming."

"I'll say," Proudfoot adds, preforming a hasty charm to remove the blood from Dawlish and the floor. "Learned your lesson to leave Tonks alone, have you, Dawlish?"

Dawlish straightens up, feeling his nose with a slightly less manic expression. When he realises it's broken, however, the fury is back. After angrily motioning for Proudfoot to fix his nose, which the other Auror does with a lazy _episkey_, he whirls to face Mad-Eye.

"You're not seriously going to let her get away with that, are you?" He demands. "She broke my nose!"

"From what I saw, it was purely self defence," Mad-Eye responds calmly. "Right, Proudfoot?"

"Yes, sir," her new favourite person returns. "Completely self defence."

Dawlish opens his mouth to argue, but Mad-Eye cuts him off. "Now, John, you wouldn't want Scrimgeour to hear about your sexist remarks towards your more than capable colleague, would you? Besides, I think Tonks has made it clear that she's got somewhere to be. Let's finish this Monday."

Tonks practically wilts in relief. She isn't sure she's ever been more grateful to Mad-Eye; she's already late, and she can't imagine how much later she'd be if she had to stay to deal with the repercussions of punching Dawlish.

After a hasty thank you to Mad-Eye and Proudfoot, she's hurrying back to her office to change before heading out. It's only once she's there that the weight of her actions finally reaches her.

She punched Dawlish.

She bloody _punched _him.

Her colleague.

Her higher-up.

A man with years of experience over her.

She's not sure whether to be proud or horrified.

She _knows _she shouldn't have done it. It's not like she makes a habit of punching her colleagues. Only...Dawlish had struck an _incredibly _sensitive nerve. Not only because it's something that's happened to her before, but because it's something she worries about with Remus.

It's not that she really thinks he'd want her for her powers, or anything, it's just...guys always get that _gleam _in their eyes when they realise what she could do for them. And she doesn't ever want Remus to be like that. She knows, logically, that he won't be. It's one of the benefits of the fact that he's older than her. He's not as immature as the blokes her age, not as wrapped up in appearances. And yet, they haven't had the morphing conversation yet. She's not looking forward to it, but it has to be addressed at some point, doesn't it?

He hasn't commented on her being a metamorphmagus. Not once. In fact, she hasn't even given it a thought when they're together. It's one of those many things that fade into the background when she's with Remus. The only time she even thinks of it is when she's going to meet him, when she changes her eyes to brown.

(She's not sure why she does that. They were brown the first time they met, and ever since then she's left them like that. For him. She wonders if he even notices.)

_Focus!_ She scolds herself. She's already twenty minutes late. She curses under her breath. If it was anyone else, she wouldn't be worried. But this is Remus Lupin. Knowing him, he's assuming the worst right now: that she's stood him up.

This thought is enough to force her into action. Forgetting the Dawlish thing entirely, she strips off her Auror robes, puts on her jacket, quickly morphs her hair to a long, curly dark green, and smooths her outfit, the one she'd chosen specifically for today. As she thinks of it now, spending so long choosing the outfit was completely _foolish_, because it's not like Remus will notice, or even care, and she's only settled for a flow-y golden yellow top, her nice jeans, and a brown jacket in the end, which is far from exciting, but _whatever_.

Shaking her head at herself, she dashes to the lifts, through the atrium, and out to the street. It's only once she's there that she realises she and Remus never set an exact place to meet, and she turns in a slow circle awkwardly, hoping to find him somewhere.

She's beginning to think that she really _is _too late, and that he's given up, when she catches sight of a familiar lean figure leaning against a wall across the street. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched in such a _Remus Lupin _stance that she can't help but smile.

He hasn't spotted her yet, and as she approaches him she notices, with a twinge, that he doesn't even appear to be looking for her anymore. She wonders if he thinks she's stood him up, and if so why he's still standing there.

When she's a few feet away from him she says, breathlessly, "Wotcher, Remus."

His head snaps up, and he, she winces, looks surprised. "Tonks?"

"Sorry I'm late," she says, coming to a stop a reasonable distance away from him. (It is, after all, loud with the traffic, and so it's definitely logical for her to stand a bit close.)

"No, that's all right, that's–it's great," he says hastily, straightening up. "I was worried you weren't–" his words seem to catch up with him and he pauses. "Never mind."

She frowns at him, suspicions confirmed. "Worried I wasn't what, Remus?"

"Nothing. It's nothing," he says quickly, nodding a bit.

She says nothing, instead raising an eyebrow in her perfected _yeah right_ look.

He shakes his head a bit and avoids her eyes.

She continues to wait. She knows that, eventually, he'll grow so uncomfortable with the silence that he'll have to speak.

Sure enough, after a few moments, he sort of sighs, then elaborates, "I just thought you might've forgotten, that's all. Or that–" he pauses, seeming to second guess himself, before saying, "Or that maybe you'd decided you didn't want to come."

Her chest constricts a bit. "Remus–"

"No, it's dumb. I know that. That's why I said it was nothing."

"But it's not nothing!" She counters. "I'm really sorry. I got held up at work–"

"And I should have assumed as much," he finishes for her, giving her a small smile. His tone suggests that he really _is _over it, so she mirrors his smile and lets it go.

Without even seeming to realise he's doing it, Remus reaches up and straightens her jacket where it's slipped off her shoulder, smoothing it down as he says, "Come on, are you ready to go?"

In the part of her brain that's not swooning over the action, she realises that she hasn't commented on his outfit yet. He's dressed in slacks and a button down shirt, as usual, but instead of a cardigan this time he's wearing a suit coat. She feels incredibly foolish for wearing jeans, even if they are the nice kind.

"Yes, I'm ready. Why do you look so fancy? Am I dressed okay? I could always change. Where are we going?" She tries not to cringe at the obvious nerves showing in her rapid fire interrogation.

"I don't look _fancy,_" he says once they've settled into a comfortable pace walking side by side, "you look lovely, and it's a surprise."

"You definitely _do _look fancy," she tells him as her brain catches up with the rest of what he's said. She fights a blush when she realises he's told her he thinks she looks lovely.

He ducks his head a bit in response to her compliment, and then quickly grabs her elbow to steady her as she trips over the leg of a bench they pass.

"Careful," he says gently.

"Thanks," she returns, only to be jostled to the side by a man hurrying down the street in the opposite direction.

"Bugger," she curses as she regains her balance, and Remus wordlessly offers her his arm. The gesture makes her insides do funny things, but she takes it without a fuss.

After a few moments of silence, during which she tries to figure out where they're going, she asks forlornly, "Does it really have to be a surprise?"

Remus, who it seems has been noticing her curious glances, grins down at her. "Yes."

She huffs. "Fine."

His grins widens the slightest bit. "How was work?"

"It was fine," she says, and then, without knowing what's possessing her to say it, "I punched Dawlish."

This draws a startled sound out of Remus. "You _what_?"

She grins, feeling more proud than guilty now. "You heard me."

He seems to take a moment to process this information before he asks, belatedly, "Who's Dawlish?"

"A prat I work with."

Remus raises his eyebrows.

"He really is!" She insists. "Even Mad-Eye doesn't like him."

"I suspect not liking people is the norm with Mad-Eye."

She laughs. "You're probably right. But he _really _doesn't like Dawlish. And neither does Proudfoot, apparently."

Remus nods a bit, seeming to accept this, before asking, "So why did you punch him?"

"It was dumb," she returns, realising she should've foreseen him asking _why _when she brought it up. That, she thinks, was a bit of an oversight. She's not sure she wants to tell Remus what Dawlish said–she's not sure she wants to see his reaction.

"Was it?" He asks skeptically.

"Yeah," she says, pathetically hoping he'll drop it.

To her dismay, Remus just raises his eyebrows.

She sighs. "What?"

"Oh, come on. You've got to tell me."

"I've _got _to, have I?"

His matter-of-fact answer is, "Yes."

"And why's that?"

He gives her a look, one that says he sees straight through her attempt to avoid the question. "Because you made me tell you earlier–"

"Oh, all right, fine," she grumbles, knowing she can't expect him to share things with her if she doesn't share them back. She still doesn't want to say the words Dawlish did, as if repeating them makes them more real, though, so she leaves it general. "It was just a dumb comment about my morphing."

Remus has none of it. "A dumb comment?"

"Yeah. Nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose. Nothing I haven't heard before." She shrugs, trying to brush it off. "I was just on edge because I was going to be late meeting you and I _hate _being late and he was being a condescending _git, _as usual, and I just–I snapped. It was over before I even realised I'd done it."

He studies her for a moment, before saying, quietly, "It doesn't sound dumb."

She's a bit angry, suddenly, or maybe scared, because she really doesn't want to tell him, so she says, "And how do you know that? You don't even know what he said!"

"Nymphadora," he says levelly, "if you _punched _him–"

She's annoyed with herself for being so difficult even as she says, "Maybe it was just dislike that built up over time."

He gives her a long, long look. With each second her resolve deteriorates, until she huffs, "Fine. If you really want to know, I'll tell you. Only it's _really _not a big deal, so I don't get why you even care–"

He frowns at her. "Of course I care." His voice is so earnest it makes her give in as he repeats, "Of course I do, Nymphadora–"

She squeezes her eyes shut tight as she admits, quickly, "He just–he said that it would be easy for me to find a man to wrap around my finger because my powers are, and I quote, appealing to some. He implied that my morphing's all that would keep someone around."

There's a moment, probably only a split second, of absolute silence, and it's so uncomfortable for her, to have made herself so vulnerable, that she feels the need to fill it. "I mean, it's not like I haven't heard that before, or even _experienced _it, and hell, it's not like he said anything I didn't expect of him, so I really shouldn't have been upset–I was being daft–"

"No, Nymphadora–" he says then, as if she's finally crossed some line and he feels the need to set her straight. When she glances up at him, a bit surprised, he looks sad, as if he's hurt. "Don't-don't say that. It's not dumb. I can't-I can't fathom what would make someone think it was okay to say something like that–"

But despite how warm and fuzzy his concern, his _protectiveness _makes her, she feels dumb, for letting it get to her so much, and she's still very scared of what he has to say about it, so she interjects, quickly, "It's fine, Remus, really–"

"But it's not fine!" He says abruptly, loudly. He seems surprised the words have come out with such force, and he takes a breath and softens his tone before continuing, "It's not fine, Nymphadora. Just because you've heard it before and some men are idiots doesn't mean it's okay to treat you like that, or to even insinuate it. Anyone lucky enough to be with you should value you for who you are."

He says it so matter-of-factly that it takes her a moment to realise the weight of what he's said. There're a lot of feelings, just then; she's relived, _so _relieved, that he holds this opinion. And then she's touched, that he'd say something like that, because only her dad's ever advocated for her worth so clearly. And of course _that _makes her a bit teary, and it's the happy kind of teary, because although she didn't realise it until he said it, she really _needed _to hear that.

"Thank you, Remus," she says quietly after a moment, meeting his eyes briefly to show him how much it means to her. "I think that's-that's probably the nicest thing any guy's ever said to me."

He looks a bit stricken. "Nymphadora–"

But the moment's getting too heavy, and she realises that what she's just admitted implies a lot more than she wants to discuss, so she lightens the mood by saying, "I'm fine, really. And don't call my Nymphadora."

She laughs a bit as she rubs her eyes with her free hand, and he seems to understand she's done talking about it, so he follows her lead and chuckles a bit, and then says, "Come on, the restaurant's just up here."

~ o0o ~

As it turns out, Remus Lupin has _completely _outdone himself. She knows he said a nicer place, but compared to where they have their weekly lunches basically _anywhere _is nice. Which is why she was so surprised when he'd led her to a cozy muggle Italian restaurant.

He'd reserved a table for them near a window, and the place is so completely great that she doesn't complain about how expensive it is. She knows he gets paid fairly decently, and she knows that the fact that he's able to pay is such a big deal for him that she'd completely ruin things by worrying about the price. Besides, she doesn't eat out much. _And, _she thinks to herself conspiratorially, it'll take ages for the food to arrive, so she'll have plenty of time with Remus. Which sounds kind of pathetic, even to her, but hey. Can't blame a girl for taking what she can get.

They've already ordered a bottle of wine, on Remus' insistence, and as she reads the menu she's still smiling to herself that they both prefer white. She's just reached the pasta section when Remus speaks suddenly. "What's that on your hand?"

She looks up, confused. "What?"

"Your hand–" he says, just as she realises that he's just now caught sight of her bruised and swollen knuckles, courtesy of Dawlish's face.

Not wanting to worry him, since it feels fine now, she says, "Oh, it's nothing."

"Dora–" he starts, but she cuts him off.

"Dora, really?"

He looks slightly uncomfortable that she's called him out on his nickname, which she instantly regrets. She definitely _doesn't _want him to stop calling her that, because it feels so warm and personal and wonderful and it's something just for them.

Instead of caving, however, he says, "Don't change the subject–"

She sighs, resigned, and explains, "In the movies they never really tell you that it actually _hurts_ to punch someone–"

His brow furrows. "Didn't you have this looked at?"

"No?" She half says half asks, his worry making her feel guilty.

"You could have really hurt your hand!"

She mumbles, "Not as much as Dawlish's face–"

But he says, sternly, "Honestly! Don't brush this off, it's hurting you, isn't it?"

"It's not too bad," she tells him quietly.

He sounds almost hurt as he asks, "Why didn't you say anything?"

Touched as she is, she's not sure what to do with this, so she brushes it off, telling him, "Remus, it's not a big deal. Really. What did you want me to say?"

To her surprise and delight he grumbles, almost moodily, "You could have at least asked me to heal it."

She huffs out an exaggerated "Fine!" before asking, "Remus, would you please heal my hand?"

He rolls his eyes at her but glances around them cautiously before preforming a silent healing charm. She doesn't even _see _his wand through the entire process, and she's actually really impressed with how surreptitious the whole thing is.

Her knuckles, which she's put under the table just in case any muggles are paying attention, feel very warm and then cool, and after they go back to normal she flexes her hand a bit, trying it out.

Her face must show the spell's over because he asks, "Better?"

"Much, thank you," she admits, bringing her hand back to show him.

To her surprise, despite the fact that it feels right as rain, the bruising's still there. Remus seems to see this, because he says, "I can get rid of the discolouration if you want–"

But she just says, "Nah, I'll just morph it away. Besides, it gives me street credit."

He snorts a bit. "All right."

She grins genuinely, and then it turns a bit more evil as she says, "Now back to what I said. Dora, really?"

He looks uncomfortable again. "Do you prefer Nymphadora?"

She gives him a look. "What I prefer is _Tonks_."

"But Tonks is so impersonal," he says, and she wants to laugh because he sounds sort of whiney. "I didn't even call my students by their last names!"

Tonks' breath catches for a moment, because other than the boggart story it's the first time he's mentioned his teaching. She almost wants to ask him all about it, but she knows that's something he's got to talk about on his own terms. Instead of mentioning it, she asks him, "Does it really bother you that much?"

"Does it really bother _you _that much?" He counters.

She shakes her head, resigned, and hides her smile a bit behind her menu. "Fine, you can call me Dora."

His grin is decidedly evil as he teases, "I could always call you _Nymph_..."

She freezes.

_Nymph._

She hasn't heard that in _years. _

_Nymph._

It's impressive, really, that even after all this time when she repeats the nickname in her head it's in _her_ voice. It always will be, she thinks.

Her chest constricts.

She swallows.

It's been a while since she's thought of it. It's funny, really, how one word can bring all this to the surface.

Sometimes, thinking about _her_ isn't painful. But tonight doesn't seem to be one of those nights. Probably because of how ugly things were in the end.

A million moments flash through her head all at once.

_Morph like Daddy again, please, Nymph?_

_ No, Nymph, Mummy said we're not allowed to go to the park alone._

_ It's okay, Nymph, you'll love Hogwarts. I'll visit you even if we're not in the same house._

_ You definitely fancy him, Nymph, c'mon, tell me all about it!_

_ Stop it, Nymph! Just go away. You don't understand._

_ Please, don't tell Mum and Dad. You can keep a secret, right, Nymph?_

_ You'll look after her for me, won't you, Nymph?_

She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and thinks, _stop. _

They stop, just as Remus asks, gently, "Dora?"

She opens her eyes.

They're in the restaurant, she and Remus. Getting ready to order.

For a moment, that had all melted away, but it's back now.

He's waiting for her to speak.

She clears her throat. Her voice comes out a bit heavy. "No. Don't–" she sighs, collects herself, then says, "Dora or Nymphadora or Tonks, but don't–please don't call me N–that."

She can't quite bring herself to say the nickname. Not when their voices sound so similar.

Remus knows, she can tell, that he's struck a chord. The guilty look on his face makes _her _feel bad. He starts to say, "I'm sorry–"

But she cuts him off. "No, it's fine, it's not your fault."

She takes a deep breath. She's got to explain herself a bit; she has to explain why, mid-banter, she suddenly curled into herself. She _knows _he needs to get it. He should understand why his words upset her, so he doesn't think it's something different. It's only fair to him to explain.

She breathes out slowly, trying to decide how to say it, before she speaks, cautiously, "My sister used to call me that. It was sort of our thing, y'know? Anyway, after she..._passed_, I just didn't–I just don't really like being called that now."

She's actually proud of how she's able to say all this without tearing up or getting emotional or whatever. She supposes she's had enough practice talking to all the shrinks her mum'd insisted she see after _that day _that she can say the facts like this–the most general ones, at least–without being upset. She sounds a bit detached, but it's better than a breakdown. Her ex-boyfriend Toby used to hate it when she got upset, especially at Christmas.

She's been glancing at the table while she speaks, but when Remus' hand gently closes over her own, which she now realises she's been using to turn her ring, she glances up to see a look in his eyes that's so _tender _her breath catches.

He says, "Dora, I'm sorry–"

And she absentmindedly reminds him, "Remus, you've got to stop apologising."

But her mind's mostly focused on the fact that _he _just initiated contact, which he basically never does, and most of her brain is reeling at the way he is so _warm, _and his hands are so big, his touch gentle but firm.

She barely hears herself say, "There was no way for you to know–"

And he looks at her still, eyes very earnest, as he says, "But still, I _am _sorry–"

And she _knows_, she knows he is, and she can be pretty sure that he gets it. After all, he was in the Order, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that that basically ensures that he had friends who died in the first war. Remus, of all people, she thinks, is someone who can understand death. Even one as muddled and complicated and downright _ugly _as Cassie's.

But she's not ready to go there. She's never been ready, really. She hasn't talked to anyone about it, not even all those mediwitches who'd claimed she could tell them anything. The guilt and pain and anger are still much too raw, even eight years later.

So she all but whispers, "Can we–could we just, um, not talk about Cassie? I'd much rather hear about the books you're reading at work or-or something."

And he squeezes her hand one last time, giving her a look that says about a million things (chief among them _I'm sorry _and _I'm here for you _and _I get it_), before he sits back and changes the subject, just as she's asked.

"Okay," he says softly, and then, back in his normal voice, "Have I told you about the book I had to review where the protagonist is a wizard who gets in an accident, forgets he's magic, and ends up in a muggle psychiatric ward?"

And just like that the moment's over, and she feels she can breathe again. She brings her legs up so she's sitting cross-legged (because really, this is why she wears pants) and says, loudly, "No!"

He grins. "I haven't?"

She feigns hurt. "How could you keep something like that from me?"

"I _am_ surprised I haven't mentioned it yet–"

She huffs out a scoff that's really a laugh, and tells him, "I can't believe that's actually a thing!"

And it goes on like this, story after story, until the whole bottle of wine's gone and the food's resting happily in their stomachs and the stars are high in the sky.

~ o0o ~

"Thanks for dinner, Remus," Tonks says, shamelessly using the cool night air as an excuse to lean further into him as he walks her to her flat.

"Really, Dora, it's the least I can do after all you've done for me," he says, looking down at her with a smile.

She rolls her eyes (because honestly, he's said that about five times now), but assures him none the less, "I had a great time."

"Me, too."

"And that pasta was to _die _for," she adds thoughtfully.

"I'm beginning to think you enjoyed its company more than you did mine," he accuses.

"Now that's definitely true."

Remus gives a startled laugh.

"It's okay if you're jealous, Remus," she teases, "that Fettucini Alfredo and I enjoy an enviously close relationship."

He grins crookedly down at her. "I'll keep that in mind."

She laughs. "But in all seriousness, thank you."

"No, thank _you_, Dora," he returns as they round the corner onto her block.

"Now you're just saying it on purpose," she scolds.

"Of course I am!" He declares, knowing exactly what she's talking about. "I've got don't-call-me-Nymphadora Tonks to let me call her a portion of her given name. Which, if Mad-Eye's comments are anything to go by, is quite an accomplishment."

"Indeed it is," she laughs. "Only you, Mum, and Dad get that privilege. And Mum does it without my permission."

"And now you're just making me feel special."

"It's true!" She insists.

Remus just laughs, and they lapse into a comfortable silence as they get closer to her building.

As they're beginning the four flights of stairs up to her room, she says, "Listen, Remus, I was thinking–"

The smug git interrupts, in a deliberately obnoxious tone, "Oh you were, were you?"

"Shut up!" She snaps, swatting him playfully on the arm.

"Ow!" He complains dramatically, rubbing his arm and giving her a hurt look.

"Drama queen," she mutters.

He grins winningly at her, before saying, more seriously, "You were thinking?"

"Yes, yes, it happens on occasion," she grumbles, before continuing in her normal voice, "Anyway, I was thinking that there's this muggle festival at the park right around the corner on Sunday–just with art and food and music and such–and I was wondering if you'd maybe go with me? I'd ask Mike or Jane or Will but none of them really enjoy these things and I thought–I don't know, I guess I thought maybe you would..."

She trails off because he hasn't interrupted her yet, like she's used to. Normally, when she rambles because she's nervous, he'll tactfully interrupt her and put her out of her misery. And she _is _nervous, because she's arranged for them to get together in ways that haven't left her vulnerable so far, but this time she's putting herself on the line a little bit. It's still friendly, she knows, but it's a risk.

She feels a bit foolish for asking him in the first place, and she's thinking of telling him to just forget it, when she looks up to be met with a soft and regretful glance from Remus.

"Oh, Dora, I would love to, I really would, but I can't."

"You can't?" She repeats, a bit stunned. He's never not been able to do anything with her before.

He looks very guilty. "I wish I could, really–"

But she already feels a bit embarrassed, and she's quite keen to throw the focus off of the fact that he's just turned her down, so she says, teasingly, "You haven't got a girlfriend or wife that I don't know about, do you?"

Thankfully, he laughs. "No, nothing like that, though I _do _have a rather demanding relationship with the moon..."

She freezes mid step before forcing herself not to make too big a deal out of it.

"I'm sorry, Dora," Remus is saying, "I'd really love to go with you, but it's a full moon on Sunday–"

She feels like a colossal moron for not realising it and bringing something so sensitive up. "Remus, I'm sorry–"

He cuts her off in a tone that's just a bit too calm. "It's all right. _I'm _sorry to miss it."

She follows his lead, brushing it off and saying, in a slightly too-cheery voice, "We'll just have to go another time, yeah? They happen fairly regularly until it gets too cold."

He smiles at her, a genuine one. "That sounds wonderful."

"Great," she says, mirroring his smile without even trying.

There's another moment of comfortable silence until they reach the door marked 2B.

She stops. "Well, this is me."

"So it is," he returns, and she remembers a second late that he'd apparated them here once before.

"I had a lot of fun, again," she reminds him, hoping to give him more confidence.

"Me too, again," he returns.

Her smile widens. "I'll see you Wednesday, then?"

She hopes her voice doesn't sound as pathetically hopeful to him as it does to her. She's pretty sure it does, but his smile erases any fear she has about that.

"Wouldn't miss it," he tells her, and her insides definitely do that flip-floppy thing that she gets whenever he does adorable things like this.

She unlocks the door, crosses the threshold, and stands on the other side, leaning between the door and its frame. She says softly, "G'night, Remus."

"Sweet dreams, Dora," he murmurs, giving her one last look that's slightly intense and completely adorable and tummy-warming.

_And they will be, _she thinks to herself as she watches him go.

* * *

_A/N: So how was it? I'll admit, a lot of the events of this chapter happened on their own. In my original story board, I hadn't planned for Tonks to punch Dawlish or for Cassie to come up, but hey...sometimes these things come out of nowhere._

_Anyway, what did you think of the chapter? Of what little you now know of Cassie? Her story will come into play a bit more next chapter and then later. Unfortunately the details will be revealed slowly, as it's not something Tonks really wants to talk/think about. You'll have to be patient with her ;)_

_Also, on Dawlish: like I said, the plan wasn't for her to punch him, but then...I love a when Tonks takes charge. And Dawlish had it coming. And so what if she _maybe _overreacted a bit...she's young, it happens. I hope it didn't seem too out of character!_

_Thanks so much for reading! A major canon event will come into play next time in chapter 10 :)_


	10. Chapter 10: A Hellish Night

_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who read/reviewed last chapter! You guys are fabulous. _

_Like I said in the last author's note, this one has a canon event. I'll be attempting to sprinkle in how the events of GoF would effect Remus, Tonks, and eventually Sirius as the story goes on. I'm not an expert on this book, though (it's been a while since I read it), so if there're any mistakes in the timeline please let me know and I'll try to fix them!_

_Also, __**trigger warning:**__ this chapter contains mention of abuse/torture, as consistent with the atrocities committed during the first wizarding war. Nothing is described in detail but I just wanted everyone to be warned!_

_Chapter 10 is dedicated to Hannah, Guest, StrawberryFields, and Meerkat, who I couldn't PM to thank for their wonderful reviews on chapter 9. Thanks so much, you guys!_

* * *

**Chapter 10 - A Hellish Night**

August 22nd, 1994

When Nymphadora Tonks had first decided to become an Auror, she'd been a grief-stricken fifth year with an intense and completely irrational goal of somehow avenging her sister's death, which at that point she'd still associated with Death Eaters. She'd fantasised about catching dark wizards and witches and righting the wrongs done by so many people that she'd considered _pure evil_. She'd fantasised about somehow negating the atrocities some of her own family members had committed. Most of all, she'd fantasised about being strong and powerful and in control, when at the time she'd been anything but.

Now, as she stands, dazed and trembling, having just been cleared to leave the scene of her first _real _exposure to the sorts of things she thought she'd be dealing with when she'd decided to become an Auror, she wonders what the _hell _she'd been thinking. She knows, rationally, that she _hadn't _been, not really; at 15, she'd set a career path for herself based on an insatiable desire to feel better.

Six years later, at 21, having just witnessed first hand what her job can–and, she thinks darkly, most likely _will_–be, she thinks that she really should've done a better job thinking that one out. She's ashamed to be practically agreeing with _her mother, _of all people, but still. She's too in shock to give that much thought.

She shakes her head at herself, trying desperately to focus on doing _something_. If she doesn't, she'll continue to stand here, stunned and horrified, and she's not sure it'll be too long before she completely falls to pieces. She's barely holding it together right now as it is, and she knows it's only a matter of time before things go to absolute _shit_. And, for once, she knows that she should be around someone when that happens. Because this feels like it's going to be _big_.

She takes a few deep breaths and tries to calm herself down. She hadn't realised, a few seconds ago, quite how freaked out she is. But now, now that it's quiet and Mad-Eye's told her to go home and she's not in constant motion, she has time to consider what she's just seen. And she's pretty sure she'd rather be running around doing something, because now that she's not, she's on the brink of a full-out panic attack.

Forcing her feet to move one after another, Tonks makes her way towards a disapparition point. A ward had been put up early on, though it'd been too late to be very effective, and she knows it ends at the fence up ahead. She tries not to look at her surroundings as she makes her way there.

_Focus, Tonks. _She thinks to herself. _Figure out where you're going. You can't be alone right now. If you have a panic attack and you're alone it'll be bad news. _

She shakes her head, clenching and unclenching her fists in an unconscious attempt to restore circulation to her hands. She knows she's got to find company; the only question is who.

Her parents are out. 100%, completely out.

For one, her dad would freak out and want her to _talk about it_, which she probably should do but doesn't want to with him. She's never been comfortable talking to him about these sorts of things–things that involve Cassie. There are certain things she can't admit to him.

Besides, her mum'd _lose it_. And she can't deal with that right now, can't deal with _I told you it'd be like this _and _I warned you it'd be too much._ The doubts are present enough in her mind; she doesn't need her mum to intensify them any more.

So her parents are definitely out.

There's always Jane, she supposes, but Jane's probably at home asleep with Will, and that is _so _not something she feels comfortable interrupting. Even though she likes Will, she isn't that comfortable around him, and she can't very well go to their house at midnight and expect him to let her have alone time with his wife. And Jane's grumpy when she's woken up, anyway.

Mike's in Romania (she swears he spends more time there than here these days), so he's out. She'd go to Proudfoot or Mad-Eye, but they've both just left here and it wouldn't feel right. Besides, she's already battling an inferiority complex about her ability to preform as an Auror, and going to one of them in this state when they're probably fine would only add to that, especially if it was Mad-Eye. And she's completely clueless about Proudfoot's personal life–for all she knows, he's at home curled up with a girlfriend or fiancée or something and that would be so excruciatingly awkward she can't even think about it.

That leaves Remus.

She hesitates.

Half of her loves the idea of going to Remus.

The other half hates it.

The part of her that loves the idea argues that he's basically a god at making her calm down and feel safe. He just has that affect on her. She's always calm around him–well, if you ignore the whole awkward crush bit. And, half of her reasons, he's the only person she knows besides Mad-Eye who'll _get it_. Besides, she's not technically allowed to discuss what's happened with anyone yet because the case is still classified, but she knows she can tell Remus because Mad-Eye probably would anyway. (And, she thinks grimly, it's not as if the Ministry will be able to keep something of this scale under wraps for very long.)

The other half of her worries about–well, pretty much everything, actually. Half of her worries that it's absurd to assume she can show up at his flat in the middle of the night so soon after a full moon just because she needs to talk. She's worried it's presumptuous (and, half of her grumbles, _look where being presumptuous got you last time_), or that she'll somehow be overextending the boundaries of their friendship by showing up like this. She's worried about what he'll think of her when he sees how freaked out she is, about how he might assume she's not fit for her job because of it, about how when she explains why she's so upset he'll pretty much _have _to find out more about Cassie.

She reaches the fence and pauses. She's not thinking clearly, she knows. She really shouldn't make a decision like this right now, but she realises she doesn't really have a decision to make.

She _needs _to be with someone. Her not-date with Remus last Friday was marvellous, her hands are completely numb at this point from hyperventilating, and _really_, her choices right now are risk being foolish to see Remus or have a complete breakdown.

Her body basically makes the decision for her and, before she can think more about it, she finds herself on Remus' doorstep. Without giving herself a chance to back down, she knocks on his door, hands shaking pathetically as she brings her knuckles against the worn wood.

She tries to hold her breath as she waits for him, but that just makes her vision swim and _damn_, she is _so _close to passing out right now. She braces a hand on his door and is just about to resign herself to visiting her parents when suddenly she's falling. It takes her a moment to realise that it's because he's opened the door and her source of support is moving inward.

She's not entirely sure what happens next. One moment she's stumbling forward, the next Remus has caught her in an awkward hug that would really be better described as a tangle of limbs, and suddenly they're sort of managing to stay upright over the threshold to his flat.

She hadn't realised her ears have been ringing until now, as she struggles to hear his voice over the buzzing.

"Dora?" He's asking. "Dora, are you all right? What happened? Dora? Tonks?"

His tone suggests he's been asking for a few seconds, and the blatant concern and almost panic in his voice give her the energy to respond.

She struggles out of his hold and stands on her own, saying, "I'm sorry, I'm okay, I'm fine, it's fine, everything's fine, it's okay, I'm okay–"

And then suddenly he's ushering her inside and she realises she's crying and there's a door shutting and she's on an absurdly comfortable sofa in a cramped room full of books and she realises she's in Remus' flat for the first time.

Remus is kneeling in front of her, hands braced on her knees in order to meet her eyes as he says, still urgently, "Dora, what's wrong?"

She takes a deep breath, finally able to calm down a bit, and she begins to speak in a voice that's not at all stable. "I'm okay, Remus, I'm fine, really, I'm sorry to wake you, but I'm okay–"

"_Dora_," he cuts her off, voice a bit sharp, eyes dark with concern, "what happened?"

She takes another deep breath, moving one hand from where it's curled into his robe to her face so she can wipe some of the tears away. "It was–I was at work–well, I wasn't supposed to be, but I was–you see, tonight–there were–Remus, there w-were–I'm sorry, it's so r-rude to show up here, but I just–I didn't know where else to g-go–"

"_Dora_," he interrupts again, this time less frantically and more bracingly, "from the beginning. You were called into work?"

She nods, blinking a couple of times, trying to figure out how to coherently tell him what happened.

He seems to realise her dilemma, because he repeats, coaxingly, "Start at the beginning, Dora. You were called into work. Why?"

"They needed help. There was an-an incident."

He seems to realise answering questions is the best way to get her to speak, so he prompts, "What kind of incident?"

"Death Eaters," she tries to say, but the words are lost in her throat. She clears it and tries again. "Death Eaters. At the World Cup."

His eyes widen. "Death Eaters?"

She nods, eyes welling with tears. "Remus, it was awful. They were–they had this m-muggle family, and they were _levitating _them over the c-crowd, and it was–they were screaming, there were _children_, and it was just like the f-first war all over again–"

"Dora, it's all right," he says, cutting her off, rubbing his hands up and down her shaking arms. She realises, absurdly, that she's holding onto his tatty robe so tightly her nails are digging into the fabric, and instead of being unaware of everything she's suddenly very aware of all the _details_–the way Remus' flat smells, sort of book-ish and woodsy and like him; how warm it is, despite it being a cold night, and how homey and cozy his flat is; Remus, his eyes alert but the bags underneath betraying how tired he is; his pyjamas, which she might find absurdly attractive or just plain adorable under any other circumstances.

She's feeling a bit disoriented even as she insists, "It's not, Remus, it's bloody not _all right_!"

Her voice is verging on hysterical now, and her body's doing this weird hyperventilating-while-trying-to-talk thing that's leaving her with too little air. "It w-was the worst s-sort of thing and it was j-just like l-l-last time and there was a Dark Mark, up in the sky, and I n-never thought I'd h-have to s-see _that _again, and it-it–"

"Shh, Dora," Remus says, and suddenly he's given up trying to calm her down from his position on the floor in front of her and he's beside her, his arms around her, her face somewhere between his shoulder and his neck. "It's all right. It's over. You're safe. You're all right. It's all right."

He repeats these words, over and over, and his voice and his smell and his hand rubbing her back are all somehow fighting the hysteria threatening to consume her. And then suddenly she's taking big, heaving breaths, and the tingling in her hands and legs is subsiding, and in the small part of her brain not freaking out about what she's seen she's relieved that she's coming away from panic attack territory now.

Remus keeps rubbing her back and she tries to focus on her breathing, on how _warm_ she is, on how she's safe. She tries to push what's happened out of her mind, just for now, so that she can calm down a bit. Really, she thinks to herself, she should probably stop freaking out on him. It was bad enough to have come in the middle of the night.

And yet, she doesn't feel so bad about it after all. Remus' face, when she'd told him about the Death Eaters, had made her feel better about her decision to come see him. He, of all people, can understand, she thinks.

Eventually her breathing returns to normal and she stops shaking and collects her thoughts enough to realise Remus is offering her a handkerchief. He doesn't say anything or move at all after she's taken it, and she tries to clean up her face a bit before morphing some of the red away.

Then, she finds herself in an unbearably weird position.

It's funny, really, how it was all well and good as he'd brought her away from her panic attack; she hadn't had _time _to feel awkward then. But now? Now she has absolutely no idea what to do. It's not like she can just stand up, say a quick thanks, and go home, though that really _would_ be the ideal scenario. Instead, she knows, she's going to have to explain. She feels she owes it to Remus, after everything.

The thing is, she's never _told _anyone about Cassie before, not really. She's said the facts; that Cassie was her older sister, that she died. But she's never really given anyone the details, not even the ones about their childhood. That was always something her parents had done, something all those mediwitches her mum'd sent her to had already known. She's never had to explain before. And she knows, she really knows, that she will _not _be able to look at him as she does.

It's just one of those things she can't do. She has a hard enough time making eye contact with people about serious things under normal circumstances–it's one of the reasons she prefers to be bright and bubbly all the time. And it's going to be a million times worse when she talks about Cassie. She _knows _that.

So instead of sitting up and facing Remus, she begins to talk as she is, with her head half buried in his chest. This way, she won't have to meet his eyes. This way, she won't see his reaction.

"I'm sorry, Remus," she says, and she's pretty proud of how her voice sounds. It's sort of clogged, sure, but she sounds impressively calm, all things considered, and not nearly half as hysterical anymore.

"I shouldn't have shown up like this in the middle of the night, and so soon after the full moon, I just...I didn't know where to go," she says, and it's pretty awkward to be speaking to his shoulder, but she knows she'll thank herself for it later.

"That's–Dora, really, it's all right," he says, and then, "I'm so–it means so much to me that you felt like you _could _come to me–"

And she gives a little laugh, because _really, of course he feels like that, _but she says, earnestly, "No, Remus, it was stupid–I wasn't thinking. I just–I couldn't be alone, not after what happened, because–"

She pauses.

Takes a deep breath.

She half panics, wondering whether she should say anything at all, only she feels the need to justify how freaked out she was. After all, most people, had they seen something like she did, wouldn't have got so scared. And it's especially embarrassing because she's an Auror.

Besides, she thinks, it'll be easier if he knows more about Cassie, especially if she has to deal with Death Eaters on a regular basis in the future.

"Because of–" she takes one last deep breath.

"Because of my sister."

It's funny, really, how hard it is for her to get those words out, but the worst is over, she thinks. And now that she's started telling him, she can't seem to stop.

"She was–when we were little, she was taken–um, well, I guess I should explain–she was–well, my mum–"

And Remus says, gently, "From the beginning, Dora."

So she does just that.

"Right. Um, so I had a sister, right? And her name was Cassiopeia. We always used to joke about our names, because we thought mum couldn't have chosen worse ones, and we were always arguing about whose name was more embarrassing. Anyway, we all called her Cassie, and she was–she was amazing. She was my sister, you know? And growing up, my mum was–well, she was raised a Black, and she was kind of–she tried, I know she did, but she was always so _cold_. And Cassie was just over four years older than me, and she ended up being my mum half the time. She was the one that did my hair and taught me how to dress and told me about Hogwarts when she got to go and I didn't. And she was just–she was incredible. I loved her so much.

"People always used to comment on how alike we looked, on how sweet we were together, and I just adored her. I wanted to be just like her. I used to never morph, because we looked so alike in my natural form, and whatever Cassie did and whatever she liked I did and liked, too. I think I annoyed her a bit, actually."

Tonks smiles fondly, picturing Cassie in her head calling her a copy cat. She pauses for a moment, in the memory, and then continues talking, as if she's just saying it to herself and nobody's there listening.

"My mum's a Black, like I said, and during the war a lot of her relatives–my aunts and uncles–were on You-Know-Who's side. Mum and Dad were always afraid that because of that our family would be targeted. Towards the end of the war, when things were getting really bad, my family went into hiding. Our house was placed under the Fidelius Charm and–well, I was only seven, but I wouldn't speak to my parents for _weeks _because they left Cassie at Hogwarts. I know they did what they thought was right, but...I don't know. I hated not having her around, and I felt like we'd abandoned her. I know Hogwarts was the safest place, but..."

She pauses, not sure what to say next. It's the first time she's ever admitted something like this to someone. But she_ had_, she had resented her parents, and, ridiculously, to some extent she still _does. _She knows they only did what they thought was right, but it indirectly cost Cassie her life. At least, that's what she wants to think. Because if she thinks anything else–well, she'd much rather blame her sister's death on her parents' mistake or her aunt's cruelty than on Cassie herself.

"It was Cassie's twelfth birthday when they–when it happened." She pauses, trying to figure out how to say it.

Remus has gone still, and she knows he's doing what she's done so many times before: he's trying not to break the spell. She's sure he's realised by now that she's rubbish at talking about her feelings, just like, to some extent, he is, and she can tell that he's doing all he can to ensure she doesn't stop.

She sighs heavily, forcing herself to say it. She's so close. She's almost there. She's just got to do it.

"It was–it was October. The 14th, to be exact. We'd been in hiding for a few weeks. I remember–ridiculously, I remember that I was making a list of what I wanted for my birthday, which was over a month away, when it happened–he came. Mad-Eye, I mean, not as an Order member but as an Auror. My parents sent me upstairs and I heard lots of crying. Mum was hysterical. And then Dad told me we were going to St. Mungo's.

"They'd found–Bellatrix, and some other Death Eaters–they'd found Cassie, just like Mum'd feared. It was hours before we found out, because nobody knew where we were–they'd had to go through so many people to find our secret keeper–and they weren't sure if Cassie was going to make it.

"I remember Mum and Dad arguing, over whether or not to take me with them to the hospital, but my dad said–I'll never forget–Dad said _it could be the last time she ever sees her_. So I went. And when we got there–she looked so _small_, Remus, on the hospital bed, and so _white_, and it was just–"

She stops, trying to rid the image of Cassie, tiny and white and frail, from her mind. She swallows.

"They saved her, in the end. Mad-Eye told my parents that she was lucky, so lucky, that Aurors had stumbled upon them and found Cassie in time. But they–they tortured her, Remus. She was just–she was just a little girl. And they–"

Her hands curl into Remus' robe again as she tries, desperately, to keep the tears at bay. She doesn't quite succeed, but after a few long moments of breathing deeply she keeps talking. She's desperate, at this point, to finish the story. She just wants him to understand.

"When she woke up, _weeks _later, she didn't remember any of it. The Healers explained that she'd probably disassociated the memories–after all, the spell didn't affect her brain, so it had to be her–and mum took me aside and told me that Cassie had got into an accident at school. _She fell down the stairs. _That's what mum said." She gives a bitter and slightly hysterical laugh. "That was the best they could come up with. And at the time I didn't understand what was going on and I-I believed them.

"For years, Remus, I believed them, until I was in my third year and Cassie was in her seventh she started–she got really depressed. She started having nightmares, and she stopped smiling, and at first she'd talk to me, tell me that she was having these dreams and that she thought she was going crazy, and I didn't-I didn't realise that they weren't dreams at all, they were memories, and they drove her _insane_, because she thought she was making it all up, and she kept begging me not to tell Mum and Dad, because she was afraid she was turning bad, like our aunts, and she just–she wasn't the same."

Tonks pauses, wondering how to keep going. She doesn't want to finish the story. There's the whole last layer of it, the last two years of Cassie's life, that she _can't_ get into. She's not ready. She'll _never_ be ready. She can't tell Remus about what happened at the end, about _how _Cassie died–it would kill her to tell him.

So instead she says, "I was fifteen when she died. It was Christmas. And after–at her funeral, and in the winter after, when I stayed home from school–I promised myself I'd be an Auror. It was so–it was so _stupid_, to think I could somehow avenge Cassie's death or something, but I just–I had to blame her death on Bellatrix. It was the only thing that kept me _okay_. And I had this idea in my head about what it would be like, to be an Auror, but it's like that at all, Remus. And tonight, when I saw them for the first time, the Death Eaters, and when I realised what this job will be like, what I'll be facing, I just–I don't know anymore."

Her voice is mostly a whisper now, and she's slightly horrified by just how much she's admitted, but, despite how weird it is for someone to finally know about Cassie and despite how hard it was to tell him, she's glad Remus knows. She's glad she's finally said it. It's as if a huge weight is off her shoulders. Suddenly, Cassie's death feels less like a dirty secret she's kept hidden from the world.

"I thought I was strong enough for this job," she says to Remus' shoulder, "but I don't-I don't know anymore."

It's silent for a few excruciating moments.

Tonks knows, logically, that she can't expect Remus to have something to say immediately.

_Really_, she thinks, _what can he even say to that? _

She knows that, if the positions were reversed and Remus had just told her something like this, she would have no idea what to say to him.

Still, the seconds to her feel like _ages_, and she's just beginning to wonder if he's not asleep or something (which really _would _serve her right for showing up at his flat at midnight only two days after a full moon) when he speaks.

"Dora," he starts, his voice sort of raw, "don't ever think that you're not strong enough."

They're words she desperately needs to hear, and yet as he says them she's also desperate to refute them. "But _look_ at me, Remus! I didn't even face any of them, and I had a complete _melt down_–"

"Don't ever think that," he repeats, his voice firmer this time. He even pulls back from her, which leaves her absurdly cold, and uses a gentle hand on the side of her face to force her to meet his eyes.

When she does, he looks completely earnest, and serious, and she's wondering whether or not she's imagining the red around his eyes even as she hears him say, "Dora, listen to me, don't ever think that."

The look on his face tells her that her eyes have betrayed just how much she _needs _him to say what he has, because he takes it a step further and continues, "When I first–honestly, when I first came upon the work of Death Eaters–" he pauses for a moment, seeming to collect himself, before he continues, "I was 18, just out of Hogwarts, and I had no idea what I was doing. I'd joined the Order to fight, but I didn't know what I was getting myself into."

He laughs a bit wryly, saying, "I was naïve. I didn't seem to understand that there's a monumental difference between duelling for practise, with friends, and doing it for real. I was with another Order member, Fabian Prewett, and we were on patrol when we saw the Dark Mark over a house a few blocks away. When I saw what they'd done to the family inside, I–well, my reaction was similar to yours. And I didn't see it happening–"

She starts to protest that the cases are completely different, and that what he'd seen was much worse, but he has none of it and cuts her off.

"-_and_," he says, voice firm, "I didn't have a history like you do."

This quiets her, and he shakes his head a moment, looking down, before he looks back at her and says, "Dora, your reaction was completely understandable. What you went through–I can't begin to imagine how that felt."

She almost cuts him off to tell him that she's sure he _can_, because she knows he's lost friends, but she doesn't want to interrupt him, and she's suddenly consumed by an overwhelming _exhaustion_, so she leans her cheek against the back of the couch and listens to him speak.

"And I'm _sorry_, I'm so sorry that you had to go through that with your sister. I'm grateful as well, grateful that you could tell me about it. But you _must _understand–it doesn't make you weak. It doesn't. It gives you something to fight for, someone to be strong for. And I know it might be hard to believe, but it's okay to be scared. It's okay to be."

He seems to notice her skeptical look, because he asks, "When you were there, earlier, when Mad-Eye was giving you orders and you were working with fellow Aurors, were you any less competent than anyone else?"

She furrows her brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, when Mad-Eye asked you to do something, were you able to do it?"

"Of course," she answers plainly. "It was after–once all the action had stopped–that I freaked out."

"Exactly!" He says, and she's appalled to find him smiling. "Exactly. That's your proof. You're strong enough for the job. You did everything you were supposed to. The important thing is that you kept your head under pressure. What happened later on doesn't matter."

She gives him a look. "How can it not matter, Remus?"

The smile he gives her now is decidedly fond, and a small voice in the back of her head asserts that if she wasn't so exhausted she'd probably be trying to refrain from throwing herself at him.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," he tells her with a soft smile. "I don't know a single witch or wizard who fought in the first war that wasn't scared out of their mind. We all were. We were hilariously outnumbered and we were always two steps behind the enemy. Everyone was scared. What mattered was what happened in the moment.

"My point, Dora, is that it's okay to be afraid. You're scared you're not fit for your job, but you _are_. You must be. You made it through tonight. And it never gets easier, to see these things, but eventually you'll be able to find a way to cope. You'll find something that helps you keep the horrors you see away from every other part of your life."

It's silent for a few moments while she digests his words before he says, suddenly, "Do you want to know what Mad-Eye told me about you when I met with him after you came to my flat?"

She nods eagerly at him, because she'd give pretty much _anything _to hear what Mad-Eye'd say about her behind closed doors, and he chuckles a bit before telling her, "He said that your greatest weakness is also your greatest strength. That you care too much. And he worried that you'd let the job swallow you up if you weren't careful. But never, not once, did he worry about you not being strong enough. He thinks you're very strong, and I do, too. There's a difference, Dora, between being afraid and being a coward."

Her eyes feel very heavy as he says, "It's behaviour that makes someone a coward. Their choices. Their actions. But everybody is afraid."

And he, she realises through her exhaustion, is right. She can be as scared as she wants. She _should _be scared. But as long as she doesn't _act _on it–well, then she's doing just as well as everyone else.

"Thank you, Remus," she says, unconsciously snuggling further into his sofa. "Thank you for being here and for dealing with my hysteria and for reassuring me like you _always _do and for–" she yawns, "–well, for everything."

"You're welcome, Dora," he says, eyes soft, and then all she can feel is warmth, and she can smell books and ink and _Remus, _and she finally gives into the urge to let her eyes drift shut.

The last thing her mind registers, a thing she's not even sure is real and will not remember in the morning, is a pair of lips, warm and gentle, ghosting over her forehead.

~ o0o ~

Nymphadora Tonks wakes up all at once to a feeling of dread, as if she's forgotten something.

The feeling propels her into a sitting position far too quickly, and she feels an overwhelming sense of disorientation as the room she's in comes into focus. She can't remember ever being in it before, but it's the fact that the room seems somewhat familiar despite the fact that she has no idea where she is that really throws her off.

Once her vision stops swimming and she looks around a bit, things start falling into place.

The incident with the Death Eaters at the World Cup.

Her almost-panic attack.

Showing up at Remus' doorstep in the middle of the night.

Warm arms holding her close as she calmed down.

Talking, for ages and ages, about Cassie.

Remus, his eyes completely earnest, telling her she's brave.

She flops back down on his couch, running a hand over her face as she tries to collect her thoughts.

It's morning now, and the sunlight streaming through a nearby window is probably what woke her up, seeings how it's silent in the flat. She's still dressed in her Auror robes, though someone's taken off her shoes, and by the looks of it she's spent the night on Remus' couch. A blanket lays on the floor, as if it'd been laid over her but she'd kicked it off in the night.

Yawning, she checks her watch.

7:53. She's got to be at work in a little over an hour, and she's got to go home and shower and change before then.

She sighs and stretches while looking curiously around the room she's found herself in. It appears to be a dual living room/study. The couch she's on faces a wall full of bookshelves overflowing with all different kinds of books and knick-knacks, and to her left and right are a set of shabby yet matching armchairs. A small table next to the chair on her left has a lamp, and the one on her right has a stack of books. Along the right wall of the room is a desk covered with papers and ink, and a hallway leaving that side goes to doors which she guesses hold a master bedroom and bathroom.

Behind her, there's a cramped but cozy kitchen whose windows fill it with light, and beyond it she can just make out a table and chairs. To her right is an entry way and front door.

She's unbearably curious to see more of Remus' flat, though she's pretty sure that she can see most of it from where she's sitting (which, she thinks, is slightly sad, though she can't say her flat's much bigger), but she has no reason to snoop and she knows Remus likes his privacy. Besides, she'd hate the thought of him in _her _flat, which is embarrassingly messy.

She finishes stretching and stands to grab her shoes, focusing on specific actions so that she can't feel any more embarrassed than she already does for last night, and only then does she notice the coffee table right in front of the couch she's spent the night on. On it are her wand, a steaming mug of tea, and a note. Curiously, she grabs the note, which is composed in Remus' careful script, and as she reads it her smile grows so wide it hurts. As she folds it and puts it in her pocket, she reminds herself to add it to her steadily growing collection of notes-from-Remus-that-are-far-too-adorable-to-get-rid-of. It reads:

_Dora,_

_I'm sorry to have left you here alone. I have a meeting with Mr. Campbell at 7:30, and I didn't want to wake you. I'm sorry for leaving you on the couch, but you looked so peaceful that I didn't have the heart to wake you last night. I hope it wasn't too uncomfortable._

_I tried to put a warming charm on this tea, and I hope it's still good when you wake up. I also tried to set an alarm on the clock to go off at 8:00 so you could get to work by 9:00. You'll have to forgive me if it doesn't; I'm afraid my charm skills are a bit rusty._

_I hope you're feeling better. I know last night was hard for you, but I don't want you to forget what we talked about. You're strong enough for anything, Dora. _

_I also wanted to thank you again for feeling comfortable coming to me. I'm not sure I can accurately portray how much that means to me. Please don't feel guilty about it. _

_I will see you tomorrow for lunch, as always. _

_Remus_

* * *

_A/N: So, how'd you like it? I'll admit I was pretty terrified to post this one, because...well, everything, actually. _

_I didn't want Tonks to come off as weak/an emotional wreck, which is one of my biggest concerns with this chapter. I hope she doesn't seem pathetic! She's got a lot to be hysterical about, I think, and she's young and it's the first time she's seen this sort of cruelty/violence firsthand. By the time she joins the Order, she has seen more, developed a coping strategy, and is in a better place about her sister, so I think that by then she can be the way we see her in the books. _

_Anyway, I hope that was okay. What did you think about what you know so far about Cassie? The actual circumstances of her death will be explained a bit later on..._

_Thank you so much for reading! __Chapter 11 (which should be much less angsty, sorry!) will be up soon :)_


	11. Chapter 11: Mad-Eye's Departure

_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who read/reviewed last chapter, especially those of you who had to wait ages for a response!_

_I'm terribly sorry for the late update. I had some family stuff going on, but things are clearing up so hopefully I'll be able to keep posting semi-regularly. Thank you to anyone who's sticking with me!_

_Chapter 11 (which is extra long to make up for the time it's taken) is dedicated to Guest, StrawberryFields, Anonamouse, and Hannah, who I couldn't PM to thank for their lovely reviews on chapter 10. Thank you all so much!_

* * *

**Chapter 11 - Mad-Eye's Departure**

August 24th-August 29th, 1994

Nymphadora Tonks walks, with much more confidence than she actually feels, into the muggle pub on Wednesday to find Remus Lupin sitting at their usual table, a cup of tea and an open book on the table in front of him.

He's early, as always, and she thinks, with a fond grin, that he's probably not expecting her for a few more minutes, as she's actually on time today instead of late. She stands in the doorway for a moment, watching the corner of his mouth turn up as he reads something in the book, and the sight of him looking so natural and carefree in a public place brings a smile to her face.

Deciding to take advantage of his distraction, she channels her inner Auror and walks as quietly as possible towards the table. He doesn't look up as she approaches, and once she's right in front of him she chirps, loudly, "Wotcher, Remus!"

"Hello, Tonks," he returns, calmly folding the corner of the page he's reading and shutting his book. He looks up at her and, without a trace of surprise in his features, says, blandly, "You're on time today."

She scowls at him, plopping into the seat across from him petulantly, and asks, in a voice heavy with disappointment, "How did you know I was coming?"

He smiles serenely at her. "Now, now, Nymphadora, one mustn't reveal their secrets."

Her scowl deepens. "Don't call me Nymphadora, Remus. I'll revoke your Dora privileges if you do."

He puts his hands up in the universal sign of surrender, before commenting, "You're on time today. Were the trainees well behaved or something?"

"Of course not," she scoffs. "Mad-Eye came by to talk to the class today about half way through and he let them all go early. Good thing, too, I'm starving!"

Remus laughs. "Well, he chose a good day to stop by, then."

"I'm a bit surprised he did, to be honest," she tells him, momentarily distracted by the fact that Remus must've memorised her order as a waiter comes with their food already. "He's been a bit weird about the whole leaving thing."

"Leaving thing?" Remus asks, brow furrowed.

"Yes, didn't I tell you?" Tonks asks, half-distracted as she pulls her plate towards her. "Dumbledore offered him the position of DADA professor."

As she says it, she cringes.

_This is why you didn't tell him before, you idiot, _she scolds herself, looking at him with apologetic eyes. She knows Remus was upset about having to resign, and she hadn't wanted to draw any attention to it.

Now that she's said something, though, she feels like she might as well continue, so she explains, "I reckon Dumbledore figured now that I'm qualified he'd be going back into retirement. So instead he got the job."

She holds her breath as she waits for his response, but it's as if all of her inner turmoil about what she's said slips past Remus. That, or he's decided not to draw attention to it, the saint, because to her utter surprise, instead of seeming put out, Remus says, "Let me get this straight. Dumbledore's hired _Mad-Eye _to teach _children_?"

She laughs at his incredulous tone, saying, "I know, right? That's what I said!"

Remus' eyes glimmer with mirth. "He may even make them miss me."

She shakes her head at him. "Oh, come off it Remus, I'm sure you were incredible. You're perceptive and you're kind and you're patient and really, you're basically the essence of _perfect teacher_!"

As she hears her words out loud she's sort of embarrassed by her bluntness, but to her delight Remus _blushes_, not out of shame this time but out of flattery, and he says, awkwardly, "No, really–"

But she cuts him off, not with any words but with a look. It's the same look Jane'd given her when she'd tried to claim the Remus thing in the pub was no big deal, the same look Will gives her whenever she says _anything_, practically. It's the classic mix between the you've-completely-lost-it look and the go-ahead-and-keep-telling-yourself-that look.

He seems slightly flustered, as if he's not sure what to say, and she's struggling to keep the look on her face instead of laughing at _his _face (which isn't a mix at all but instead the you-really-have-lost-it look in full force) when he finally breaks to ask, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She gives in to the urge to laugh and tells him, "Oh, just because your lack of self-esteem really is appalling sometimes."

Her fingers are crossed under the table that she hasn't pushed him too far by saying something this honest, but he just says, "No, really. I think I just got the job because–"

"–there was nobody else?" She finishes for him in a bored voice.

He gives her a weird look, as if he's surprised that she was able to guess what he was going to say, or as if he thinks she's somehow agreeing with him, so she says, "Honestly, Remus, you know that's not true. I've got sources who say you were a fabulous teacher."

He still looks skeptical, but she decides to let it go and rolls her eyes at him, saying, "Anyway, you'll definitely look good compared to Mad-Eye. Those poor kids!"

He seems relieved that she's dropped it and laughs. "You'd know better than anyone, having gone through training with him."

"Too right," she agrees. "Those were brutal years, I'm telling you. But he prepared me better than anyone, and I'm very grateful for that."

As she hears her own words, however, she's suddenly brought back to two nights ago, to what Remus'd said as she'd panicked at his flat. She cringes a bit; she's been trying not to think about it, because she doesn't even know what to say to him once it's been brought up. _H__onestly_, she thinks frantically, how can he even look at her right now, after everything?

His smile is soft as he says, "He did, didn't he? You proved it the other night."

She fidgets a bit as he acknowledges the elephant in the room, the thing she's been oh-so-carefully avoiding mentioning or even thinking about since she arrived. But she knows the whole talking-about-it thing is now or never (and _yeah, _she definitely wishes it would just be never, but she knows they've got to address this before it becomes something awkward hanging between them), so she takes a deep breath and says, seriously, "Look, Remus, about the other night–"

But he cuts her off, voice reassuring, and says, "If you're going to apologise again, you should stop right there. What is it you always tell me? That I need to stop apologising?"

She's exasperated, because sure, she always tells Remus that, but that's because he apologises for silly things, for human things, for things that he shouldn't apologise for because they're always justified. What she's done is so completely not even related to that that she can't even think about how he'd compare the situations.

The words to explain that don't come, though, and instead she sounds petulant as she says, "Yeah, but you don't show up at my flat at half twelve going mental."

She's looking at her hands now, fiddling with one of her rings, but she can still see out of her peripherals when Remus shakes his head. "Dora..."

But she can't hear him being so _nice _to her, so soft and kind as always, because she'd just stormed into his flat with no warning two nights ago and it's just absurd that he can think that was somehow okay, so she says, voice wavering a bit, "Really, Remus, I'm so–I was afraid to meet you here, today, because of that. I couldn't understand how you would possibly not hold it against me."

He's shaking his head at her, and he sounds so earnest when he speaks that she just has to meet his eyes. "Can't you see, Dora?"

His voice is somewhere between exasperated and fond and her stomach is definitely doing _something _that could probably be described as flipping if she wasn't so damn determined to avoid sounding pathetic. Which _really_, it's way too late for that at this point, but _still_.

"Can't you see how much it meant to me, then, how much it still means to me, now, that you did come? That you could trust me? That you shared with me?"

His words are making her feel all warm and lovely, and she really wants to listen to him, to believe him, but as always her brain can't calm down and let things be simple and she starts to interrupt him, to contradict him, but he won't let her do it.

"No, Dora, really," he says, his voice a bit hoarse, "it's been so long since anyone has placed that sort of trust in me–so long since I've felt needed like that...I really can't express how much it meant."

He's being so genuine with her, and as he says the last bit his eyes are sort of sad even as he smiles and suddenly she is so _done _fighting believing him, so she sort of sighs and slips into letting herself, because she really doesn't think you can say something in that tone with that expression and not be completely honest.

Her eyes are sort of misty and she tries to say, "Neither can I," but it comes out whispered. She clears her throat and says, louder, "Neither can I, Remus. I've never told anyone about Cassie before and it was–" she can't really find the right word. Liberating? Relieving? Changing? She's not sure there _is_ a word for the way her relationship with Remus–hell, her relationship with the _past–_has changed since two nights ago, but she says, honestly, "I'm glad I did it, I guess."

He smiles at her, softly, but it's too much, so soon after she's told him all this, and she doesn't really want all of their conversations to be serious now. She's taken a big step, and she wants to keep taking steps, but things are too heavy and she's done enough for the day and she's really more interested in hearing about him, about his week, so she changes the subject, abruptly, clumsily, saying, "Anyway, I was hoping you wouldn't be mad at me or anything, because I need your help."

Remus seems to understand that she's done being so serious, so he goes with it and asks, eyebrows raised, "Oh?"

"Yeah," she says, giving him a grin that is equal parts gratefulness and relief, "you see, Mad-Eye's leaving to teach at Hogwarts–Friday's his last day in the office–and I wanted to get him something. A going away present, I guess. Only I've no idea what to buy."

He looks skeptical. "And you think _I'd _have a better idea?"

"You worked with him in the Order, didn't you?"

His laugh makes her smile, as always, but her brow furrows as he says, "Dora, that was–first of all, that was years ago. And besides, he's–well, he's–"

"He's Mad-Eye, I know!" She interrupts. "What on earth do you get someone that paranoid?"

As he laughs again she thinks, idly, that she should really start keeping track of how many times she's succeeded at this today, at making him laugh. It's amazing to her, really, that he does laugh so often now.

"Seriously, though, Remus!" She says, exasperated. "I mean, any sort of food or beverage is out of the question. Did you know he brings his own lunch and water _everywhere _he goes? I mean _everywhere_. I've never seen him eat something that he hasn't prepared himself."

"That I did know," Remus says with a small smile. "He was my friend James' mentor when he entered the Auror programme, and Mad-Eye once told me that James' parting gift to him–a hip flask that could only be filled by the owner–was his most prized possession."

Tonks stiffens the slightest bit as he speaks, mind racing.

_James. _

_ An Auror. _

_ The first war. _

He _must _be talking about James Potter. She hadn't really thought of it before, but his age _is _about right to have been close to James and Lily Potter. Remus must have been their friend, and her heart breaks a little bit because she _knows _how that story ends.

Suddenly, the weight Remus seems to carry, the pain in his eyes sometimes, makes more sense. She'd always imagined that he'd lost friends in the first war, but it's one thing when _friends _is an ambiguous term for imagined people and quite another when she knows who they were.

Still, she doesn't want to draw attention to it, and Remus is still smiling fondly, so she just smiles back, saying, "See what I mean? Food and drink are out of the question! And it's not like I can get him something to _wear_–"

This draws a laugh from both of them as she thinks suddenly of Mad-Eye in a horrible pink scarf or something, but she remembers how stressed she's been about finding something for him and says, shrilly, "Shut up, Remus, I actually don't know what to do!"

He notices her tone and his face softens a bit. "I'm sure you'll think of something, Dora. And I'm sure he'd treasure anything from you, just because you got it for him. Besides, you could always get him a book."

She grins, relieved. "Now there's the Remus-Lupin-like suggestion I was anticipating. But I have no idea what kind of thing he would even _like_–"

"–and I suppose you want my help choosing one," he finishes for her wryly.

"Well..." she says slowly, dramatically, "I don't suppose it would _hurt_–"

"That's all I'm good for to you, isn't it? Help finding books?"

She knows he's kidding, so she tells him, "You are rather good at it, you know..."

"I suppose so," he concedes, and she grins at his moment of confidence, if even it's a small one. It's so unlike him to acknowledge a strength, however trivial, and he doesn't even seem to notice he's done it as he says, "When did you want to go?"

"When can you?" She asks, knowing this is all rather last minute. "I'd love to give it to him Friday, as it's his last day and all, but I know that's short notice and I don't want to assume you don't have plans, or anything like that, so really any time is fine–"

"You're the one with the busy work schedule," he says, and she wants to hug him for cutting off what was becoming an awkward ramble. "When are you free?"

"Well, I've got Friday morning off, because I can't take new cases until I have a new supervisor, so if you're free we could go then?" She asks hopefully.

Remus smiles. "It's a date."

~ o0o ~

Friday morning finds Nymphadora Tonks walking out of Flourish and Blotts with a brown paper bag containing a book carefully selected for Mad-Eye, which the not-so-cranky witch at the till had gift-wrapped, a card, and a few books for herself. The shopping trip had been highly successful and, despite the fact that he joked around, finding and suggesting absurd books for Mad-Eye, Remus had, in the end, helped her find a good one.

As they approach the door Remus tells her, "You'll have to owl me and tell me how it goes."

"I will," she promises, grinning at the thought of getting another letter from him to add to her collection. "In fact, I'm hoping someone has a camera to capture his reaction."

"Now that's a picture I'd pay to see," Remus laughs.

She grins. "I think I'll get Proudfoot to help me, just in case Mad-Eye gets angry."

Remus' brow furrows as they walk out the door. "Proudfoot?"

"Yeah, he's a bloke I work with. Really nice! Mad-Eye usually pairs me up with him or Dawlish when I get sent into the field, since they're on my team," she explains to Remus over her shoulder. "Obviously I prefer him to Dawlish. He even congratulated me when I punched–"

Her words are cut of by a curse as she trips over a crack in the pavement, and she thanks Merlin for Remus' fast reflexes as reaches out to steady her without seeming to have to think about it. She's about to say something cheeky to him about catching women as they fall when her attention is diverted by the rack of newspapers and magazines outside the shop, which she'd missed on her way in. (And _okay_, she can admit it, she'd missed the stand because she'd been too busy thinking about the last time she and Remus had been in the shop and how utterly adorable he'd been, _sue her_.)

Remembering that Remus had told her his first review was going to be published this week when he'd walked her back to work on Wednesday, she hurries over to find the _Prophet._

Remus gives her a confused look until she pulls a copy out triumphantly, saying, "I can't believe you didn't remind me to check for your first published article!"

The things is, she definitely _can _believe it; it's very like Remus to avoid mentioning his accomplishments, but the figure of speech still stands. She's relieved she remembered, even if it was last minute, and she grins at his blush as she flips to the entertainment section.

Quickly scanning for book reviews, she finds the section and asks, incredulously, "Sam Wingfoot? Really? _Really? _That's the best you could come up with?!"

His face flushes and he looks down. "I was hoping you'd catch the reference."

Her stomach twists and she has to bite her lip to contain the ridiculously large grin threatening to come out. She thinks, belatedly, that she should try not to let her hair go pink, but she's not sure she's managed to keep it from doing so, and as she thinks of what he's done she can't seem to mind.

He'd_ named himself_ for her. He'd specifically chosen a name, a merging of their two favourite characters, to be his pseudonym, just as something private between them, something she could recognise in the reviews. And beyond that, beyond that he'd thought to do that for her, it also means that he remembers what she'd said to him all those weeks ago in this very shop.

Instead of making a big deal out of it, however, because she's afraid it'd give her feelings away, she says, still incredulously, "And Mr. Campbell let you go with that?"

He seems relieved that she's through embarrassing him for his choice of name and says, fondly, "I don't think he noticed. And anyway, it's a right sight better than his other suggestion."

"What, was it John Smith or something?"

He laughs. "No, that would've been all right. It was far worse."

She looks up at him curiously. "Really? What was it?"

He cringes a bit. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"I can make no such promise."

They stare at each other for a few seconds, and she knows she's won when Remus starts to fidget awkwardly.

He sighs. "Fine. It was..."

She waits, eyebrows raised.

He takes a deep breath. "He suggested Romulus."

There are a few moments when she stares at him without reacting, and he returns her stare, waiting for her inevitable reaction.

She tries not to laugh. She really does.

She does not succeed.

Remus looks embarrassed as she dissolves into peals of laughter. Eventually, she collects herself enough to say, "Romulus? Romulus!"

But then she's laughing again, the absurdity and clichéd nature of it all catching up to her. After a few seconds she gasps, "That's priceless!"

He looks embarrassed."Now, Nymphadora, it's really not that–"

"Oh yes it is!" She counters with a grin. "Completely cheesy and obvious and just–" she giggles again, "priceless. Really, Remus. I'm _so_ never going to let you forget this! And don't call me Nymphadora, unless you want me to start calling you Romulus!"

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "All right, you've had your fun, now let's go."

She pouts at him. "But I want to read your article!"

"You'll be late," he reminds her, "and then you won't have time to set up your decorations."

She groans. "You're right, I suppose. I'll just have to start ordering the _Prophet._"

He looks confused. "Just for my articles?"

"Of course," she says simply. "Don't look so surprised!"

He looks touched for a moment, but then he seems to shake it off, saying in his usual cheeky tone, "Nymphadora, didn't I tell you that you always surprise me?"

It's funny, really, how easily he turns the tables; now she's the one that's touched, and her insides squirm at the mention of the words he'd said to her outside of the pub that night. Instead of acknowledging it, however, she glares at him for the use of Nymphadora and says, "I'll see you later, Romulus."

She barely has time to catch his eye roll before she disapparates and arrives at the employee entrance of the Ministry, still laughing.

~ o0o ~

"Tonks, you're not _seriously _going to put that up–"

Proudfoot's voice sounds unusually loud in the deserted Auror Office. Nymphadora Tonks, who stands on a conjured ladder, glances at the clock (which lets her know she still has ten minutes before lunch is over) and then at her colleague from over her shoulder.

"But of course I am, my dear Proudfoot," she responds cheerfully.

She hasn't been able to wipe the smile off her face since she went shopping with Remus Lupin earlier this morning, and although Proudfoot had seemed surprised by her good mood despite the fact that her mentor was leaving, he hadn't asked. Which she's grateful for, because right now she rather likes keeping Remus all to herself.

"You can call me Joseph, you know," he says to her idly.

"Joseph, huh?" She murmurs, trying the name out. "Joseph Proudfoot–"

He frowns at her. "Don't tell me you didn't know my first name!"

She's slightly surprised by the undertone of hurt in his voice; it's not that she doesn't care about him, or anything, it's just that...well, she'd never really thought of Proudfoot as having a first name. Which is ridiculous, she knows, but he's always just been Proudfoot to her.

Still, she feels guilty for not knowing it, so she says, "I suppose I'm just so used to going by my last name that I forget other people sometimes _like _being called by their first names. Besides, you're higher up than me, so shouldn't I _not _be using your first name?"

He gives her a look. "Honestly, Tonks, do you really think I care about that?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Dawlish would–"

"Dawlish is a prat," he says simply.

She gives a startled laugh. "Joseph Proudfoot! I'm surprised at you!"

He grins a bit sheepishly. "Well, he _did _say those awful things to you..."

She's taken slightly off guard by this comment; she's so used to feeling like the young one in the office, the one that's looked down on, that she's touched to find Proudfoot sees her as a colleague, an equal. Instead of commenting, she just says, "Well it _is _Dawlish we're talking about, so I'm not sure why everyone was so surprised."

She climbs down the ladder as Proudfoot says, "I think it's more the fact that you punched him–I mean actually, full out _punched _him, and in the nose, no less–"

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbles, "and now that's what I'll be known for around here–the girl that punched Dawlish."

"I reckon it's a good reputation to have, actually," he tells her. "Though if you go through with this, I bet your reputation will be the girl who put up the banner for Mad-Eye."

She grins as she unrolls the parchment she'd prepared earlier. It's been charmed to say _Farewell, Mad-Eye!_ in rainbow colours, and when he walks in it'll douse him with confetti. Remus helped her charm it before they left Flourish and Blotts, even if he had rolled his eyes at her for having the idea in the first place, and she's been trying to get Proudfoot to help her hang it up for the past ten minutes.

"And just think," she tells him with her best pleading grin, "you could be known as my trusty side kick, Joe, if you'd just help me!"

He ignores her comment, saying, "It's Joe, now, is it?"

"Don't pretend you don't like it."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Now come on, help me!"

He looks conflicted. "I don't know, Tonks..."

She glares at him.

"Seriously, you could get in a lot of trouble for this!" He says, sounding a bit harried.

She sighs.

_Technically_, he's right. But she knows Mad-Eye, and she knows he won't mind. He'll pretend to, sure, but at the end of the day he won't do anything besides pretend not to like it and maybe lecture her on what is and isn't appropriate. Which is totally worth it, in her mind.

"Come on, Joe," she pleads, briefly considering morphing puppy-dog eyes. "Where's your sense of adventure? You have an older brother, don't you? Didn't he teach you how to prank?"

He looks surprised. "How do you know about Oliver?"

"Pictures in your cubicle," she says nonchalantly. (She'd noticed them one day when they'd been preparing for a case. At the time, she'd been struck by an absurd surge of jealously, because next to the one of them as kids there'd been a more recent one of them as adults, with a grinning Proudfoot hugging his brother and then a woman in a wedding dress, who she'd assumed was his sister-in-law. The jealousy, however, had immediately been replaced by shame, because at the time she hadn't had a similar one of Cassie in _her_ cubicle. She'd brought one in the next day.)

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she says, "He looks like a real trouble maker."

He hedges for time, saying, "And you can tell that from the photo?"

"Of course," she says quickly, and then, "now quit stalling! Come on, he'll be back any minute."

He hesitates. "I don't know about this..."

"Please, Joe?" She asks, starting to morph larger eyes. "What happened to those little Proudfoots I saw in the picture, running around wreaking havoc?"

He gives a mischievous grin, saying, "I think you mean 'Proudfeet'."

Her mouth drops open in surprise. "Joseph Proudfoot, did you just make a Tolkien reference?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't look so surprised," he grumbles, but when he sees her grin he laughs a bit, too.

"You were already in my good books for the whole Dawlish thing," she tells him enthusiastically, "but you've just been promoted to second-best person ever!"

"Second best?" He says with a theatric air of hurt. "Who's in first place?"

She laughs, picturing a grinning Remus Lupin in her head. "That's for me to know and you to find out. Now would you _please _help me? Pretty please?"

He sighs. "All right, fine, just for you!"

"Yes!" She says, leaping off the ladder and throwing her arms around him dramatically. "You're brilliant, thank you so much!"

~ o0o ~

An hour later, a cheerful, bright-pink-haired Nymphadora Tonks is sat in her cubicle writing a letter to Remus Lupin. She hums to herself as her quill scratches away, a wide and slightly smug grin never leaving her face. She does, after all, feel she has a right to brag after the way her plan had worked out–nobody can deny it was brilliant. Near suicidal and completely outrageous, sure, but brilliant nonetheless.

She laughs to herself as she relays all the best details to Remus. She tells him about conning Proudfoot into helping her, about how they'd finished right before Mad-Eye walked in, about how Proudfoot had managed to get a picture of the whole thing. She tells him about how Mad-Eye'd been so caught off guard that he'd immediately prepared for a duel or something, tells him about how she'd felt slightly guilty because of his reaction but mostly smug for catching him off guard. She explains how she'd felt too awkward to give him his gift with everyone watching, and tells him about how she'd managed to get him to agree to let her stop by his house Sunday before he got ready to leave.

She also tells him that she'd been able to steal Proudfoot's copy of the _Prophet _to read his book review. She tells him how wonderful it was, how funny and charming and insightful. She does not go light on the praise, and hopes that one day he'll feel more confident about his writing and just himself in general.

She thanks him for his help with the charms, and includes a copy of the picture of Mad-Eye stumping into the Office, getting covered in pink confetti, and drawing his wand only to be tackled by an elated, bubble-gum-pink haired Tonks. In the picture, she can't help but notice, Mad-Eye's face goes from surprise to alert to something like touched for the briefest of moments before he begins to scold her.

She tapes her copy of it up next to the one of her and Cassie as little girls.

Her letter starts,

_Romulus, aka my favourite person ever,_

And ends,

_Your Nymphadora._

She isn't sure whether she's hoping he'll read into it or not.

~ o0o ~

Sunday morning, at precisely 9 o'clock, like they'd agreed, Nymphadora Tonks arrives on Alastor Moody's street, wrapped book in hand. He'd told her he'd know when she arrived and to let herself in, so she walks into his house (which she's visited before for training) and heads to the kitchen, where she hears him stumping around.

The visit is already weird for her, as the front lawn was all torn up, but she hadn't thought too much of it. He used to put all sorts of things outside in training that she'd have to fight past to get in to start her daily lesson. When she'd arrived this morning, she'd had her wand drawn in a split second, but nothing had attacked her on her way in, which was strange. Apparently he wasn't going to test her after all. She supposes it _would _have been oddly sentimental of him to set something up in the first place; maybe the front yard is meant as a diversion to prevent people from trying to enter while he's gone, or something. She wouldn't put that past him.

Things get more odd, in her opinion, when she finds him preparing breakfast in the kitchen, because she knows that he's usually up with the sun in the morning. She doesn't think too much about it, though, and instead says cheerily, "Wotcher, Mad-Eye!"

He whirls around suddenly, as if he hadn't heard her coming, and she frowns a bit. Surely she hasn't improved _that_ much in stealth and tracking? Remus had, after all, found her out only a few days previously. And Mad-Eye has the advantage of a magical eye.

His gruff "What are you doing here?" jars her from her this train of thought before she can really think about it, and though his voice is always rough, he seems especially harsh to her this morning.

She gives him a look. "You're not getting senile on me, are you, Mad-Eye? I told you Friday that I'd be here, remember?"

"Don't accuse me of such things, lass!" He growls.

She's confused for a moment but shakes it off, instead saying, "What happened out front, anyway? Not getting sentimental, are you? It looks bloody awful. Did you go overboard on an intruding mouse or something?"

She means it to lighten to mood or make him go back to normal or _something_, but it has the opposite effect. He looks almost angry as he says, "That's no business of yours, now is it? Besides, I was just on my way out. I have things to do before I leave."

It's as if she's been slapped. "I'm-I'm sorry, Mad-Eye–"

She starts, but he cuts her off with a sharp, "That's Moody to you."

"What, so now that you're not in the office anymore I have to start calling you by your surname?" She asks, foolishly hoping that maybe this time he'll go back to normal.

He doesn't say anything, though, and instead his tongue darts out to wet his lips, a motion she's never seen before. She briefly considers, absurdly, whether he's not drunk or something; she really can't think of another excuse for his odd behaviour. Is he really so bad at goodbyes that he has to distance himself like this?

The uncomfortableness of the situation feels like it will smother her as she says, quickly, "I'm-I'm sorry, Moody. Are you–do you _feel _all right?"

She's bewildered by his behaviour, and there's hurt, too, but that's mostly masked by her confusion.

"I'm fine, lass," he grumbles. "Just trying to get out the door. I'm in a hurry."

He says this last part meaningfully, and she feels, strongly, that she's bothering him, and that he doesn't want to see her at all. She wonders, briefly, whether he's actually mad about her little stunt at the office or what this is at all.

"Right," she says, nodding frantically. "Right, then. Um, I was just–I got this for you."

She hands him the wrapped book and, to her horror, feels tears building. Suddenly, she's desperate to leave, to get out of here before she loses her composure.

"You can–why don't you open it later? I'd better get going–um, I guess I'll see you, or something," she says awkwardly.

She briefly considers trying to hug him or something, but he turns away from her with a _hmph _noise and waits for her to leave.

She stands still for a few moments, eyes filling with tears, before she turns and gets out as quickly as possible.

~ o0o ~

Monday morning finds Nymphadora Tonks sitting morosely in her cubicle in the Auror office, aimlessly twirling in her chair. She'd spent far more time than entirely appropriate thinking over what Mad-Eye'd done Sunday: his behaviour, the way he'd looked at her, the tone of his voice. She feels ashamed, horribly embarrassed, foolish, disrespectful, and just...he'd made her question everything about their relationship.

Mostly, however, she's confused; she can't make sense of anything. It'd hung over her all morning and through her regular Sunday dinner with her parents. Eventually, once it was very late at night, she'd got up the courage to owl Remus and tell him what'd happened.

She hadn't wanted to tell him about it; she'd been too embarrassed. But after spending a few hours tossing and turning in bed, she'd decided that writing it down might help calm her mind, so she'd told him everything. She'd been ashamed, really, to admit how Mad-Eye'd treated her, but she'd been able to sleep after writing it down.

She's morose now because she hasn't heard back from him yet, and even though she knows, logically, that he probably just hasn't read it or hasn't had time to answer, it still hurts to have to wait.

She's momentarily distracted, however, by Proudfoot, who comes into her cubicle and perches on the edge of her desk.

"Hello, Tonks," he says with a grin.

She doesn't know why he's always so happy, and this morning she catches herself almost resenting him for it. She pushes that feeling way, though, and takes a deep breath. Then, plastering a grin on her face, she says, as cheerily as possible, "Wotcher, Joseph."

If he notices her mood, he doesn't say anything about it, and instead says, with an almost childish air of anticipation, "We're meeting our new team leader soon–which means you'll be meeting your new boss."

She sighs slightly, having forgotten about that; now that Mad-Eye's gone, she'll need someone new to watch over her. Until she's been qualified for a full year she needs supervision, needs someone to give her cases they deem appropriate, someone to report to after every case. Mad-Eye'd originally planned on staying for her first year to do that, but once he'd got the job offer he'd changed his mind. She's not sure who's going to replace him, and this person is doubly important because they'll also be her new team leader.

The Auror Office is divided into teams of four; usually, there's one more seasoned Auror who's the leader, and three other Aurors of various training under that person. Teams are mostly for big cases, which her team hasn't had while she's been here, though they're also expected to work together in pairs with someone from their team on smaller cases. Practically, it only means that she sees some people more than others, but if her team were ever needed for a big case it'd already be determined. During the first war, it was common for teams to stick together for all cases, since they were all major.

Her team is composed of Dawlish, Proudfoot, herself, and whoever's going to replace Mad-Eye. Eager to find out who she'll be reporting to (and already relieved that Proudfoot's said they're going to _meet _the person, meaning it isn't Dawlish, thank Merlin), she says, "Do you know who it is?"

He gives her a look. "Haven't you heard?"

"No?" She says, wondering why he sound surprised. Surprised and a bit...she isn't sure. He seems almost reluctant.

"Oh, I would've thought someone would've told you by now," he says, and there it is again, that little but of _something _that she can't quite pin down.

"Who is it?" She asks, bracing herself for bad news. She can't imagine who'd be bad enough for Proudfoot to sound sort of off unless it was Dawlish, but the way he'd said it earlier made her think it wasn't.

He seems to steel himself before saying, "It's going to be Shacklebolt. Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Tonks' stomach plummets and her eyes widen. "Kingsley Shacklebolt? Seriously?"

She can't quite hide the disgust in her voice, but she hopes he doesn't read into it correctly. Ever since Shacklebolt was assigned the Sirius Black case, she's harboured an unfair dislike for him. It's nothing about his personality; in fact, with all the female attention he gets, she has to admit she sort of respects him for not being an egotistical prat. But still, she can't help but hold the Sirius thing against him, because she doesn't want her cousin caught and Shacklebolt, she must admit, is a damn good Auror. She can't let Proudfoot (or anyone, really) figure out why she doesn't like him, though, so she's going to have to be careful.

She looks up to find Proudfoot looking baffled. "You know, most female Aurors–and even some male ones–would be over the moon."

She scoffs derisively. "But he's so–he's just–he's, like, so–"

"Muscular?" Proudfoot suggests. "Dreamy?"

She snorts. "Are you sure _you're_ not over the moon about this?"

He looks slightly embarrassed. "I was just repeating what I heard others in the office saying. You'd best be careful, Tonks. I think Julia and Isabelle are about ready to murder you out of jealousy."

"For what, being supervised by Shacklebolt?" She asks incredulously. "Why is everyone so crazy about him, anyway?"

Proudfoot leans in conspiratorially and whispers, "I think it's the earring."

She bursts out laughing. "Since when are you funny, Joseph?"

He grins a bit, looking chuffed, but doesn't say anything.

She decides to push her luck, just a bit, by saying, "Well, you're not going to have to worry about that sort of reaction from me. I'm not a fan of him anyway. And won't he be too busy working on the Sirius Black case to pay any attention to us?"

It seems she's pushed too far, though, because Proudfoot gives her a calculating look. "You did always seem to have something against him."

She swears she can feel her heart stop beating for a second and it feels like her face might be flushing, and she thinks, ridiculously, _thanks for that one, body, you're really not doing me any favours here._

Her mouth feels dry and the moment stretches on for what feels like ages, but Proudfoot keeps talking, oblivious after all. "He won't be around that often. It's not like you need a lot of supervision anyway. You're–well, you're a really good Auror."

He smiles at her, and she smiles back, touched. "Thanks, Proudfoot."

"Joseph," he corrects her.

"Joe," she returns with a grin.

He rolls his eyes. "Well, if that's the best I can get..."

Suddenly there's the sound of a throat being cleared from the doorway. They both glance up sharply to see Dawlish leaning casually against the frame.

"If you two are quite done flirting," he drawls, "it might interest you to know that we've been called into Auror Shacklebolt's office for a meeting."

Tonks rolls her eyes at him, ignoring his usual jibe, and turns to Proudfoot. "We'd better go, then."

Without taking a moment to notice the red in his cheeks she stands, takes a deep breath, and heads off to meet Shacklebolt, hoping that she'll have a letter from Remus waiting for her when she gets back.

* * *

_A/N: How did you like the chapter? Is their talk about the night before realistic? How do you like Proudfoot? Did you catch my proposed origin of Remus' Potterwatch name?_

_In case it wasn't clear (though I really hope it was), the reason Mad-Eye is so mean to Tonks is that he is no longer Mad-Eye at all and is, instead, Barty Crouch Jr. I figured BCJr would assume Mad-Eye wouldn't put up with being called nicknames and teased by Tonks, because he's usually very business-like and she's sort of an anomaly. Anyway, I hope that seemed believable!_

_Also, if anyone has a tumblr I'd love to know your usernames! I just got a tumblr a few days ago and I've been looking for people to follow :)_

_Thanks for reading, and chapter 12 will be up soon!_


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